Thanks for: Brothers With the Man Flu

Dear Adult Brother Who Sneezes All Over Everything,

Why oh why are you unable to ever properly cover your face holes when you’re spewing bodily fluids everywhere? It’s not that hard to not sneeze on people! It’s definitely not hard not to intentionally cough on people. As your elder sister I command that you stop. It’s not funny.

Stop trying to sneeze on me.

The boy comes home for one week and it just so happens to be the week that he’s ‘deathly ill’. By which I mean he has the sniffles-wiffles and wants dear mommy to make him chicken noodle soup and buy him Popsicles.

Buy your own popsicles Hedgehog.

But your snot induced sniveling does procure one item of thankfulness – no dishes for me. Like magical clockwork as soon as the parents hear the vaguest sniffing, everything jumps straight to the dishwasher. This is nothing short of a miracle. Our parents hate the dishwasher with a fiery passion that I can’t quite comprehend. Somehow it’s evil. It apparently never cleans anything properly and takes too much water and is just a colossal pain the rear. Apparently.

This just seems to translate into Aria drying a whole ton of dishes every day.

But the parents have concluded that the one thing saving grace of the dishwasher is it’s ability to sanitize. So when someone is sick its suddenly a dishwasher-pooloza. No dishes for me. Bliss.

So thank you younger sibling for taking that chore away for a few days. But on the other hand, if you get me sick, I will re-infect you and you can take this right back to your generally unclean student housing.

And no, you’re not that sick, I don’t feel that sorry for you, and it’s just a cold.

Go get a kleenex.

Aria

Thanks for: Dressing Like A Disney Princess at Work

Dear Mom,

Just because I’m in my twenties and going in to work does not mean that I can’t secretly dress like a Disney Princess. You didn’t flinch when I wore the Batman shirt under my blazer or the Captain America earrings or inadvertently told my boss that I thought leopard onsies should be acceptable work attire – so it’s odd to me that the dressing like Elsa amuses you.

I mean it’s not like I’m wearing a gown and throwing snow at people. I bet my boss hasn’t even realized that I’m dressed like Elsa.

After all, when we bought the shirt you didn’t realize that I loved it for it’s Elsa-ness. To be fair, I didn’t even realize it. I was just like ‘I need a shirt. That shirt is blue. I like blue. I will try on that shirt.’

I truly am the most avid of shoppers.

Then I put the shirt on, looked in the mirror, and choked on air. The shirt was light blue, had tiny silver divet/sequin/embellishments (I don’t what you call them) all over it, and when I lifted my arms it got all drappy like a cape might be involved. Let It Go needed to be sung. I immediately did not care if it was form flattering or not, it was the Elsa shirt and I wanted it.

Thankfully you actually know what looks good on me (FYI this is why you still accompany me on shopping trips), and you gave the shirt the stamp of approval as I stared at the mirror with snowflakes in my eyes. You only realized it was my ‘Elsa shirt’ when I accidentally called it that trying to describe it to someone.

But I am so thankful for this shirt. I put it on with my dress pants, throw my hair into a side braid (a genuine challenge for this curly mass), and pop on a snowflake necklace – suddenly I’m a Princess. Or a Queen. Queen Elsa of Arendelle. And if you don’t think that mindset follows you throughout the day, well, you’ve got another think coming.

Because I spend the whole day prancing on air because that’s what royalty does, Mom.

Nothing can touch me, everything gets down efficiently, and please save the person who tries to be rude – Queens don’t take no nonsense. So go ahead and smile at my shenanigans, I know you love your nerd.

And thank you shirt, for being so inspiring.

Aria

Thanks for: Sunglasses and Scarves

Dear Snowy Sunshine,

The clouds have parted. Finally the sun is back. I’d forgotten what it looked like as the clouds of destiny took over the sky and dropped buckets of white stuff upon the earth. Everywhere. So much snow shoveling. Great exercise but oh so cold and stuck under a dreary grey sky.

But the sun is back, shining it’s shine.

But the cold and the snow are still here.

As such, I find myself in the uncommon position of wearing a winter coat, boats, scarf, TARDIS toque, mittens, gloves under mittens, and sunglasses. I’m so thankful for the dichotomy. What are you doing sunglasses? You are a summer attire option but I’m wearing you in February.

Being brilliant, that’s what you’re doing. I thought summer was sunny but seeing the sun reflect off the white snow is blinding. The world just went through some kind of filter that makes you squint because everything is so overexposed. But there you are sunglasses, restoring my capacity to see and bringing a little bit of summer to the winter.

The fact that I’m simultaneously wearing sunglasses and normal glasses should not be mentioned.

Thanks,
Aria

Thanks For: Winter Slip N Slides

Dear Giant Icy Hill of Death,

I used to be convinced that the river was going to overflow, flooding the city, and only those of us who lived on the hill would be safe. I was thankful for you hill. Now, I have a car, it’s winter, and I’m a little less thankful and a little more ‘WHEEEEEEE!”

That’s a whee of “wheeee are all going to die because this hill is large and covered in ice and there are three stoplights that require attempted stopping on the Giant Hill of Icy Death plus a bridge at the end! With water! And Ice! And rapids! And a big ol’ dam!”. Guess who can actually stop on the Giant Icy Hill of Death? No-one. It’s one giant slip n slide. Not that snow sliding isn’t fun, I just prefer it to be on a toboggan. Or skis. Or snowboard. Or really anything not a car, I’m Canadian, ice is part of life.

But here comes the thanks people who live on the Giant Icy Hill of Death, those of us who are stuck on the ‘wrong’ side of the river’, we’ve become fabulous now drivers simply by necessity.

Everyone slides all over the place on that hill. Everytime. You see fishtails everywhere. Going up and down.

But rarely crashes.

No bumps. No bangs. No ditches. No rolls. No sliding into oncoming traffic. Just a lot of revving engines, sliding, fishtailing, and spinning tires. But rarely does anyone get hurt. We’ve learned. The Giant Icy Hill of Death teaches its students well. It forces parents living on the hill to take their children our for ‘Giant Icy Hill of Death’ sliding training. We are well equipped for winter.

Also it’s like a community. You’re sliding? ME TOO! I won’t honk at you. I see you’re stuck-ish. Let’s push together! I don’t mind that you’re only going 20. I get that you may be new to the Giant Icy Hill of Death. It’s terrifying. You’ll get use to it.

And when we did hit? Little bumps because everyone knows what the’re doing. No-one gets mad. Just pull over the car. Look at it. Shrug. Smile. Silly hill. Really. I’ve seen it more than once. It’s amazing.

Thank you great teacher, Giant Icy Hill of Death, for showing us your secrets.

Aria

Thanks For: Old Men Who Fall Asleep During Meetings

Dear Spiffy Elderly Gentleman,

I saw you. You were sitting right behind the COO and I saw you fall asleep for 10 minutes during the last staff meeting. Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. Actually I applaud your seating placement, that was prime real estate for subtle sleeping without anyone who has actual firing powers seeing you. Just little ol’ newbie me and some of the accounting folks.

Maybe they didn’t even notice, there were budgety number up on the screen and accounting folks love that jazz.

So maybe it’s our little secret. But your eyes were definitely closed, your head was drooped, and you were doing the head-bounce thing where you no you shouldn’t fall asleep but can’t quite help it. Eyes close. Head up. Head slowly drops. Yes, sleep. Sleep would be good. 1 sheep, 2 sheep, red sheep, blue sheep. NO! MEETING! Head jerks back up.

Restart.

It’s precious. Even better it was entertaining. Clearly you were having a rough day sir and I’m glad that you didn’t get caught napping which would have made everything worse.

Do you know that I know? I think so. Your smile gave it away. So thanks for the head bobbing entertainment. Thanks for the secret. Thanks for reminding me that meetings, while they have their benefits, aren’t always the best way to communicate with your staff. That’s a lesson I can take with me.

Sleep on sir,

Aria

Thanks For: Canadians Cope with Winter By Eating More Broccoli

Dear Flowering Headed Cabbage Vegetable,

Not that I have anything against broccoli but as a Canadian I can say that this a course of action I’ve never considered. Granted, there’s a lot of winter here. Stretching endlessly on into a white abyss from which you believe there is no waking and that the meters of snow will never recede to once again reveal the small sprigs of triumphant grass. But I’ve never thought ‘hey, you know what would combat this winter? More broccoli’.

But apparently I’m missing out. Move over poutine and beaver tails (the sugary kind that takes like a heavenly waffle, we don’t eat real beavers), Canada’s loading up on broccoli.

So why is this a thanks? I’m not a fervent lover of broccoli. I’m not even sure if anyone fervently loves broccoli, it’s sort of a general meh vegetable. But I’m thankful for the image of Canadians hunkering down, hiding from the snow, with troves of broccoli.

Even better. This was put out by an American magazine. Come on America? Is this what you think of us? Slapping a hockey puck around our igloos, chased by polar bears as we fend them off with projectile tim bits, and munching on broccoli.

I love it. Yes. That’s perfect.

At least it makes sense. Broccoli is a stellar source of vitamin C which is what you tend to be missing in the months of deep dark snow. I know. First bio class was devoted to extracting vitamin C from broccoli. I, the ever skillful, managed to badly burn my hand steam. Sigh. Broccoli is dangerous.

But apparently Canadian,

Aria

Thanks For: Backseat Driving Little Brothers

Dear Overly Cautious Hedgehog of a Brother,

I know that its *our* car but if you insist on dramatically flinging yourself against the window in fear and criticizing the space distance between cars then I will relegate you to the backseat. All 6 foot 5 of you. Stuffed in the backseat. Knees banging your chin. This goes doubly if you ever again attempt to touch the steering wheel. DO NOT TOUCH.

I was just being a superb big sister and picking you up in the dead of night to bring you from your University home of filth and squallor to the Kingdom of Mother’s cooking and laundry service. Do you know what I was missing on your behalf? The latest episode of my current favourite tv show. I missed my OTP and the shipping. Then I got spoiled by tumblr. All for you little brother.

And yet you think you’re hilarious by dramatically hanging off the door every time I make a turn or by over-flinching each time we stop. “Slow down. You’re speeding. What if you hit a deer? You need to leave 3 seconds between you and the car in front of you. Stop stopping so fast. turn RIGHT NOW. You should have known that even though you don’t live in this city. You should signal sooner.”

You are such a baby driver. Also I will lovingly turn up the country music as loud as it goes until I can no longer hear you. And I know how much you love country  music.

So little brother. Thanks for the driving lesson, I’m glad that you’re so invested in my safety. I’m thankful that you think you’re hilarious as I’m told it’s good for the self esteem.

Just stop doing it when I’m driving,

Aria