Last night Marilla and I made a huge bowl of popcorn and curled up to watch the not-so-great debate. Okay, so Marilla wasn't there, but my dog Dottie was, and so was the popcorn. I just pretended there was someone like Marilla in the room, kicking off her Barbie-sized high heels and furiously taking notes, crafting an informed and intelligent opinion. No offense Dottie. Confession. At 7 most evenings, I am normally in the missionary position, with Dottie, awaiting the Coronation Street theme song. The fact that The Street was pre-empted for the debate had my hackles up prematurely.
Right off the mark, I noticed both Dottie and myself looking at the TV and tilting our heads in that oh, so adorable, quisical dog look. It was Dexter's eyebrows! They were a perfectly pointed tandem of weirdness. Almost Spock-like in their painterly perfection. It gave him a deer in the headlights appearance throughout the entire hour, even when he wasn't babbling about how his government was going to ruin Nova Scotia much like Bob Rae's NDP pillage in Ontario. I couldn't move past those brows. That and the blue tie with the brown suit.
When I could steal my eyes away from Dexter's brows it was to get up closer to the TV screen to see if Stephen McNeil was indeed breathing. I was hoping someone would hold a mirror up to his mouth. The poor man looked like a lifeless preacher in an ill-fitting suit, hanging on to the pulpit for dear life. We really can't vote for 4 years of that animal magnetism can we people? He made Farrah Fawcett's recent return to television seem entertaining.
I have to say it, if there was a winner, and it clearly wasn't Nova Scotians, but if I had to declare a winner last night, it was Rodney. He must have some Ian Thompson and Kevin Cameron rubbing off on him – a good suit, and his hair wasn't quite as Harper-esque as it normally is. The highland flinger spoke with the most passion (most to lose maybe), but he also made the most sense. Oh sure, he got us into this mess, but given the present global financial climate, I can't help but think if either of the other two Stooges were in charge, that things would be even worse. Rodney had enough brains to lure Ian Thompson back from Ottawa, so he gets my nodding-off nod.
But hey, where was the young Green-in-so-many-ways candidate?
To close this blonde, internal political debate, I admit difficulty when forming an intelligent, logical opinion. Ever. My opinions come by way of sudden Tourette's-like blurts from deep down in my bowels – or from my heart – seldom do they come my head. So let's juts roll with that and play a little game. If you had to have sex with one of the candidates after watching last night's election debate who would you pick? Come on, don't tell me this isn't how Obama, and Kennedy, and Trudeau got a few female votes!
But if you really had to – life or death had to – pick one of those 3 fellas to rock your world for the next four years, who would you choose as your Mr. X?
Or, would you simply abstain from voting, and self-govern?
I raise my eyebrows, tilt my head, and wonder.
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