by ALEXI VENICE
I’m not going to blog about politics. We all see enough of that divisive rhetoric in the media. My blog is an escape from partisan venom, instead entertaining you (and the hell out of me) with vignettes about love, life, dogs, travel and food.
I’ve been thinking about this article for a while, though, and decided I simply have to tiptoe around the political septic field, not getting dirty or wet, to write about lust. Yes, lust. JUSTIN TRUDEAU IS SO HANDSOME! AND NICE! AND CLASSY! AND SMART! AND, WELL, WE WANT HIM!
You don’t know who I’m talking about? This guy. The Prime Minister of Canada.
When did he appear on the international stage, stealing the limelight and making all of us stop what we were doing during the evening news, just to watch him shake hands with President Trump? (The handshake was the subject of many commentators talking about strength and control. As a boxer, Justin was stronger and in control. Google it.) Justin Trudeau slid into office in 2015 (by a proper vote in Canada—not that we want to know the details of their electoral system).
Be honest, it’s not like we pay attention to any other country’s election (unless it involves a coup and thousands of refugees fleeing from oppression). We don’t even keep track of the names of other heads of state. Who’s the Prime Minister of Australia? Can you name France’s President? How about Mexico—so close, but we’re indifferent. As Americans, we don’t try to be self-absorbed, it just comes naturally.
Unless the leader is evil (read “Putin” here), we don’t know his name. Yes, I used the masculine pronoun with evil. Name one evil female leader of a country in the last 100 years. Don’t even think about trotting out Catherine the Great, Empress of Russia (1762-1796). Whether she was good or bad doesn’t matter. I’m focusing on recent history here. What female leader of a country was evil in the 20th century? None. Never mind the digression.
Back to Justin. Here’s a recent photo of him, his beautiful wife, and their three children.
What a vibrant young husband and father!
I know you all have a vague recollection that his father, Joseph Philippe Pierre Yves Elliott Trudeau, was also the PM of Canada (1968-79 and 1980-84). Here’s a photo of him (he went by Pierre) carrying a two-year-old Justin into politics. Justin was born on Christmas Day in 1971. Awe.
Justin was apparently destined for either a Hollywood acting career or politics. Here’s a pre-politics photo of him.
Oh dear. Wipe the drool off your chin and keep reading.
I bet you didn’t know that he’s a boxer, did you? Yes, there’s a bad-assed, manly side to his personality, making him perfectly rounded for all you women who went through, or are currently going through, a “bad boy phase.”
That’s his wife, Sophie, kissing him after a boxing match. Look at the grip she has on the back of his head! She’s into it! Proud of her manly man and staking her claim. See his tattoo?
The only point of this article is to raise your awareness of how gorgeous the PM of Canada is, and that, as American women, we’re used to getting what we want. And, frankly, we want him!
I sort of feel like I was dining at a restaurant and when my food was delivered, it looked disgusting—old, orangish, wrinkled, angry and mean, with a copper-colored garnish. If raisins are dried grapes and prunes are dried plums, then I got a copper-garnished, dried orange. What’s the proper name for a dried orange?
Yes, this is a call to action. If you have any ideas for the name of a dried orange, please go for it in the comment section below. The orange’s scientific lineage is from the order of sapindales. Maybe there’s a good root word in there—“copper-garnished sapindale.” I don’t know, so I’d like your creative input.
I’ll choose a winner for the best name, who will receive a free Kindle download of Bourbon Chase, The San Francisco Mystery Series (Book 1). Put your thinking caps on and give me your best copper-garnished [dried orange] name below, so I can use it in future posts.
Back to dining at the restaurant. After looking at my pathetic dish, I looked over at the people dining next to me—the Canadians. Their food looked delicious. “I want what they’re having!” I said. “When can we get that? When?”
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