We’ve just arrived back in Canada and have exactly five hours and twenty-seven minutes allocated to recover from jetlag, then prepare ourselves for the tumultuous weeks ahead.  “What’s going on”, you ask.  Well, let me set the scene with a “prequel” based on events way back in August 2024.  

Here goes:

 I can deal with clothes shopping. I can even manage to survive the inevitable curly question, like “does the mauve one look better than the lavender?”  (Long ago, I learned that the correct response is always “they both look nice. Which one do you like?”)

Today, however, I’ve drawn the line! There is no way I’m going into a place called ‘The Bridal Gallery’. 

So, here I am, sitting on a bench in the main street of New Westminster, BC, waiting for Kirsty and Nanette to emerge from the nearby Aladdin’s cave of nuptial accoutrements. 

I share the bench with Bob, a fifty something guy wearing a faded Canucks jersey and mournful expression. 

“Daughter?”, I ask. 

“Yep”, says Bob. 

“Me too.”

Conversation exhausted, we sit in silence for a while, watching the little groups of excited prospective customers arrive, remove their shoes, then accept tall glasses of bubbly liquid before being whisked upstairs to the hall of secrets.

Eventually Bob, who is obviously a return visitor to the bench, decides to give me the benefit of his experience.

“Not much to do around here, eh?”

I make a show of looking up and down the empty street of what may have once been a bustling shopping area.

“Nope.”

“The museum in the next block has a whole section about the history of lacrosse. And the thrift shop has some pretty good stuff if you still need to fill in some time.”  

I nod my thanks and wander off in the indicated direction.

To my surprise, the lacrosse exhibit is actually pretty interesting.  When, after what seems like hours, Nanette finally calls me to say the ladies are ready, I’m bursting with useless trivia.  I could tell them that lacrosse was declared Canada’s national game in 1859, and was featured in the 1904 Olympics, but tactfully choose to look at photos of dresses instead. 

“Which do I like best? Um, er, they all look nice. Which one do you girls like?”