The dictates of logic.

Sherry’s friends are all jetting off to exotic locales, like Vietnam and Las Vegas, so Sherry and I are going to Ottawa for the last weekend in March. Apparently this will require me to wear a Mexican wrestling mask. No, there won’t be tulips yet.

We are taking the train. (I have never taken a real train, i.e. not one that isn’t a part of a public transit system.) We are staying in Hull. (I will rely on Sherry’s approximation of nasal Quebecois French.) We are going to the Museum of Civilization (Sherry has never been there.) I fully expect to be chased, naked and carrying my clothes, out of the Parliament buildings. Why? Who can say? We should probably invite Rick Mercer. Especially if I can find that bar where we learned about Russian Roulette shooters…

Apparently The Sens are playing Washington at the Scotiabank Centre on Saturday night. I wonder if I’ll be able to feel the gravitational pull of Ovechkin’s ego all the way from Kanata…?

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