bloody footprints

Apparently, I am unpatriotic. I fear I might be expelled from the city I was born and raised in.

I detest the Stampede.

I tried to hang my head in shame at this but it just keeps popping back up with a big smile. My head is not cooperating with the shame I feel I should be having at my refusal to not only attend the Stampede, but to attend any Stampede type event.

Unless that event involves semi-drunk women at Julie's house with a little man who walks around with baskets of deep fried mars bars and mini donuts.

I will attend that anytime of year. Daily, in fact.

My dad always took us to the Stampede, my whole life, so it's not like I don't know what I am missing. As young adults I went with my friends every year for hours on end. I fell in love with the Cranberries at the Stampede. I saw my husband-to-be, Tom Cochrane, at the Stampede. I had good times. When I was 7 months pregnant with my first the man and I went and walked around and my feet got so fat and swollen I looked down and wondered, "why do I do this to myself? I don't even like the Stampede."

A stranger on the c-train told me I was fat and then didn't even offer me his seat.

Stupid Stampede.

Do you know how many dream homes I have entered to win?

Okay, only one. And I have never been to the Chuckwagon races and yet, I still managed to move on with my mediocre life.

My children have never been to the Stampede. They have no idea what it is or what they're missing. And, being the neglectful mom I am, I am fine with it.

I mean, really, what are they missing? Drunk people. Smelly people. Loud people. Rides that look like they were put together by 7 year olds. Over priced games. Over priced food. Over priced rides. Crowds. Line ups. Hot smelly everything.

Have I left anything out?

The man and I went, ourselves, every year for about 5 years. We paid for the train down, the entrance, a drink, a treat and then we went to the casino to win all our money back. And we always did. Until the last year, when we didn't and I caught a glimmer of the gambling addict hidden deep within the recesses of my psyche.

We have never been back and once again, my low standards and lack of motivation allow me to live with it.

Successfully.

I could have named this post more appropriately but I figured no one would read it if they thought I was complaining about the Stampede.

Plus, my puppy hurt her puppy paw and put puppy blood all over my house in the form of little bloody puppy footprints.

Which I just mopped up.

Good day and giddy up.