***************************************************************

Me: Oh.

Me: I didn’t know you were getting a massage.

Me: I thought you were at the Dufferin Mall trying to improve our phone plans.

Me: Sure was off with that one!

Me: Well, I hope the massage is doing the trick, anyway!

Me: Awesome. You really do deserve to have a “tender yet forceful experience that lifts you out of your body and punishes you in all the right places.”

Me: What’s the masseuses name again? Yana? Didn’t she used to be a hot Russian long jumper before some sort of sex scandal? 

Me: Pierre?

Me: He’s your masseuse?

Me: I thought he was your power skating coach.

Me: Both, eh? That’s a little weird.

Me: I see.

Me: He’s a renaissance man.

Me: I do too know what that means.

Me: It means he’s a douche.

Me: You know he lied about being in the NHL, eh?

Me: That’s something sacred, you don’t lie about stuff like that!

Me: Oh, he was in the German league then.

Me: Not. The. Same. Thing. 

Me: Like playing in Peewee.

Me: I would dominate that stupid league.

Me: Whatever.

Me: Whatever.

Me: You did what?

Me: Look, my Fantasy Baseball Stats file is private.

Me: I have no idea why you found a bunch of racy photographs of Kristen Stewart in there.

Me: Not a clue.

Me: Maybe Jones put them there.

Me: Really? That’s the stupidest thing you ever heard?

Me: Look, I’m not stupid just because I failed math a bunch of times.

Me: Or French.

Me: Or any other subject!

Me: I’m Alt-Smart.

Me: No, it’s different than being “special.”

Me: You’re being a bully.

Me: You are not a safe space!

Me: Look, look, why are we fighting? It’s Christmas!

Me: Sure.

Me: Of course I’ve been doing my Christmas shopping!

Me: I’m no rookie.

Me: Practically done.

Me: You and Pierre wanted tickets to that Pentatonix concert, right?

Me: Or was it the travelling version of The Price is Right?

Me: Maybe I’ll get you two both!

Me: Yes.

Me: Wow, that would be great!

Me: I had no idea they made Kristen Stewart sex dolls!

Me: What do you mean, “That’s not what my Internet history says?”

Me: Well, I don’t know.

Me: Must have been some mistake.

Me: Maybe the baby sitter was looking up Kristen Stewart sex dolls? How would I know!?

Me: Also, maybe my account was hacked by a Russian?

Me: Well, I’m a pretty important writer.

Me: The Russians know that if they attribute something to me it will have great influence on the public.

Me: They’re smart, the Russians.

Me: You ever see them play hockey? So very clever!

Me: I did not think that Aleppo was a type of dog food two months ago!

Me: I’m pretty keyed in to world events. Always have been.

Me: I have always stood with Syria.

Me: Sure I did.

Me: I gave away that old bathroom scale to a Syrian refugee family.

Me: Well, yes.

Me: The organizer never did come to pick it up, but that’s on her!

Me: She’s the one who doesn’t care about Syrians, not me!

Me: I care about their weight, about how they adapt to the North American diet!

Me: Don’t want them to get diabetes!

Me: Sorry?

Me: Why did I text and interrupt your massage?

Me: I don’t remember.

Me: Oh, now I remember!

Me: If the last three women on the planet were you, Kristen Stewart and Jennifer Lawrence, I would choose you.

Me: Yes, I am very sweet.

Me: I love you, too, see you soon! xoxo

In an effort to combat this, my wife Rachelle has developed a side hustle in which she combs through various stores for used children’s clothing and then sells what she finds online. I have recently become a part of her purchasing team.

What follows are the texts she sent to me while I was on a shopping mission:

**************************************

Rachelle: So, did you get those pink Sorel boots at the Value Village that you promised to pick up for me?

Rachelle: Oh.

Rachelle: I’d have thought you’d be there by now.

Rachelle: What problem?

Rachelle: Oh, I didn’t realize that taking the Queen streetcar to a destination on Queen street was “counter-intuitive,” especially considering that we used to live on that street.

Rachelle: Yes, I guess that was a lifetime ago.

Rachelle: We were very different people then, it’s true.

Rachelle: That’s right, there was no Netflix back in those days!

Rachelle: Yes, those were much more innocent times.

Rachelle: Those were the days before you fell down the conspiracy theory rabbit hole!

Rachelle: I’m sorry dear, of course I meant “Got Woke.”

Rachelle: Yes, you really are just as woke as fuck, and you’re right, the Lame-stream media can’t be trusted– it’s just too bad you still have such trouble with ordinary challenges is all.

Rachelle: Oh.

Rachelle: That’s what you want people to think.

Rachelle: I see.

Rachelle: Conceal the truth within a fog of misdirection! Just like a magician!

Rachelle: It’s amazing how successful you’ve been at making everybody believe you’re not very hygienic and unable to hold a job!

Rachelle: Oh, don’t be like that!

Rachelle: You’re still my favourite flavour of ice cream!

Rachelle: What? Something’s happening on the streetcar?

Rachelle: Bullying? Well that is serious!

Rachelle: What’s he saying to you, Pickle?

Rachelle: Well sure, it could be somebody else getting bullied, but I just figured it was part of your plan. You know, to draw fire from the weak to the strong!

Rachelle: I do know you well, Pickle!

Rachelle: So what did the guy say to you?

Rachelle: She called you a “weak-chinned twerp” because you got the last seat?

Rachelle: You’re right, it’s not your fault she’s slow.

Rachelle: You know what I think? I think she underestimated your quickness! Just like you planned!

Rachelle: But still, it’s amazing how bullies know exactly where to attack!

Rachelle: How did she know that you’re so sensitive about your weak chin?

Rachelle: Oh, good one, telling her you just had hernia surgery and needed to sit is sure to shut her up!

Rachelle: Oh, I’m sorry that it didn’t work.

Rachelle: And now she’s making fun of your “Solidarity Pin?”

Rachelle: What is a “Solidarity Pin.”

Rachelle: Oh, it’s a safety pin that signals to others that you’re a safe zone? And any persecuted group or person can take comfort under the umbrella of your entitlement, is that it?

Rachelle: So you’re kind of like an X-Man?

Rachelle: Got it.

Rachelle: Are other people wearing safety pins rushing to your aid?

Rachelle: No?

Rachelle: Well, maybe it’s your responsibility to find them?

Rachelle: Do you have your Ativan with you?

Rachelle: You better take one, honey. Maybe two.

Rachelle: Remember your breathing exercises.

Rachelle: In through the nose and then slowly out the mouth like you’re blowing out a candle.

Rachelle: Oh, Pierre, my power skating coach is trying to get through right now, so I have to go.

Remember to pick up the boots, my brave, little cloud of disinformation, and don’t let that bully scare you off your mission!

Me: Feeling good today, very confident!

Me: You’re right, my Mindful Meditation session did go really well!

Me: Meditated the shit out of it! I was fucking Deerpark Chopra!

Me: No, I think it is Deerpark.

Me: Really?

Me: Deepak? That doesn’t sound like a name at all, more like a company that makes boxes or something.

Me: I don’t believe you.

Me: I’m going to look it up.

Me: Okay.

Me: Yes.

Me: I guess it is kind of amusing that I could get the last name right but still butcher the first name in such a “child-like” and “ challenged” way.

Me: I’m still going to call him Deerpark though.

Me: No, not stubborn, whimsical and playful. Like an otter.

Me: I also went to my first lymphatic massage session!

Me: Well, they tap your face.

Me: And yeah, that drains your lymph glands. Yes, by tapping.

Me: $200

Me: No, they didn’t wear diamond-encrusted gloves while doing the tapping.

Me: No, it wasn’t a topless lymphatic massage, either.

Me: Well, the happy ending is that my lymph glands are draining!

Me: I thought your insurance covered it!

Me: Fuck.

Me: Well, there are only 7 more sessions.

Me: Look, having drained lymph glands is important.

Me: At least as important as your “Power Skating” classes with Pierre. I mean, 3 times a week??

Me: I don’t trust Pierre, don’t believe he played in the NHL.

Me: Also don’t like the way you laugh around him.

Me: No, of course I trust you, my love.

Me: I’m at the Dark Horse Café now.

Me: Decaffeinated green tea, gangster style.

Me: Nowhere to sit in here.

Me: Woman says she’s holding last chair for a friend.

Me: Says she will be there in 5 minutes.

Me: Dazzling smile. Entirely distracting. Have forgotten why I was talking to her.

Me: I wish she did lymphatic massage.

Me: I’ll send you a picture.

Me: Really? Creepy and inappropriate?

Me:  On every level? Really?

Me: You’re really weird, you know that?

Me: Okay, 12 minutes have passed now and her friend still hasn’t shown up. I’m going to say something.

Me: I wonder if she’s a model?

Me: Okay, it’s been over 20 minutes! I’m going to give her a piece of my mind!

Me: Her beauty doesn’t entitle her to anything!

Me: You’re right, she is exactly like that Leprechaun guy on the TTC!!

Me: Only radiant and if the Leprechaun were made out of sunlight.

Me: Like Pierre, you said he’s made of light, and what did you say, “thigh muscles,” didn’t you?

Me: I WILL SAY SOMETHING!

Me: I AM NOT A SLAVE TO BEAUTY!

Me: (Except yours, my love)

Me: Ok, here I go.

Me: Losing my resolve. Think it’s melting. Standing with tea is fine.

Me: Hemingway wrote standing up.

Me: Her laptop bag deserves seat in crowded coffee shop.

Me: Laptop bag like a holy relic.

Me: Friend just floated in like a beautiful perfume.

Me: Think Pierre emerging from a spray of ice chips.

Me: Such beauty, should be a cover charge here.

Me: They are now talking together, as angels do.

Me: All is sunlight.

Celebrities, politicians and common folks jumped on the bandwagon, many wearing blue bracelets in support of the cause, and a little bit of over-sharing might have taken place, but still, a bunch of money and awareness was raised. The success of this venture has led Rogers, Bell’s rival, to do something very similar. On January 31^st, Roger’s launched their Everybody Poops campaign, where for every tweet or text that included the hashtag RogersEverybodyPoops, six cents would be donated to gastrointestinal health initiative across the country.

These are some of the tweets that went out on that day:

Clint Eastwood

Go ahead, make my day and RT #RogersEverybodyPoops

Anonymous

Bowel movements are nothing to be ashamed of!! Please RT #RogersEverybodyPoops

Sarah Polley

Life’s no picnic when every bowel movement feels like an emergency. Please help by retweeting #RogersEverybodyPoops

Anonymous

We need to end the stigma that prevents people from talking openly about their bowel movements! Fight silence!! #RogersEverybodyPoops

William Shatner

I had a rectal polyp the size of a walnut and the pain was unreal. #RogersEverybodyPoops

Anonymous

Fart jokes are not funny!! They are a form of BULLYING! Please RT #RogersEverybodyPoops

Justin Trudeau

What would Justin do? Justin would bring attention to the gastrointestinal health of Canadians. Let’s knock out Colon Cancer! #RogersEverybodyPoops

Anonymous

I didn’t fart in front of my boyfriend for three years. Why?? The silence and shame must stop! #RogersEverybodyPoops

Anonymous

Because of my IBS I have to use public washrooms all the time and it is unsafe #RogersEverybodyPoops

Dion Phaneuf

Nobody likes to leave a floater in the toilet. #RogersEverybodyPoops

Anonymous

My stool is very unpredictable and always smells horrible. It’s time for pooping to come out of the closet! #RogersEverybodyPoops

Rob Ford

Nothing feels as awesome as a good dump, so let’s give all Canadians, not just the elites, that opportunity. #RogersEverydodyPoops

Anonymous

The runs aren’t just something that happens to your stockings. We need to talk about this! #RogersEverybodyPoops

Pamela Anderson

Nothing is a bigger turn off than blood or mucus in your stool. Let’s get our shit together! #RogersEverybodyPoops

He couldn’t be stopped, his dick had to be seen.

Of course, politicians have long been engaged in reckless, sex scandal drenched behaviour. Vladimir Putin, President of Russia and robust anti-gay activist has actually been celebrated for his aggressive sexual posturing, with his PR team strategically releasing sex room chat transcripts to the public in an effort to bolster his macho image by “gay-baiting,” a practice common in Russia, a nation now dealing with the fallout from Putin’s new anti-gay laws.

Here is one of those transcripts:

Bear60: Tell me! What is it you are wearing!!

Twink23: Black leather chaps and a wife beater. Also, I’m hard.

Bear60: You must prove this to me! I demand it!! You are submissive!!

Bear60: Ha! I am not gay and now you have sent me a photograph of your hard penis!! The joke is on you, fag-boy!!

Twink23: I like it when you talk like that, you want some more, don’t you?

Bear60: It is a nice penis you have, strong. It is a shame you waste it on men and not women!

Twink23: I would waste it on you.

Bear60: Tell me Twink, what sort of men do you like? Do you like Russian men?

Twink23: Oh, you know I do. I love the HARD consonants of the language, I love everything HARD about Russians—their lives, their hands, their dark secrets.

Bear60: Maybe it is one of your homosexual fantasies to imagine sex with a powerful Russian man who was once a killer in the KGB!!?? Perhaps that excites you Twink23!?

Twink23: Tell me more, Bear, tell me more!

Bear60: This man, he would take you roughly because he hates that you have unnatural sex! And to show you his anger and disgust he would tear off all your clothes, and it would just be the two of you in the secluded barn that had been sheltering you from the storm! Because you are weak, you would demand to be punished sexually for the things you have done and the Russian Bear would humble you with great force and beauty, and then your skin would glisten and emit a satisfied and loving rosy hue!

Bear60: Ah, Twink, I see I have tricked you into sending me another abberant photograph of you! Ha, you are a fool, but I see you must workout! A lot. I also work out, for I am a very vigorous and heterosexual man. Do you know where it might be possible for me to trick a black homosexual into sending me a picture of his penis and muscles? Maybe the three of us could chat?

As Rachelle and I move through the crowds and against the grain, a jittery man with hair that had been cut out of an imposed, institutional necessity rather than the luxury of seduction, falls in step with us. He’s in his late 30s and he’s asking me for money, telling me that he hasn’t been with a woman in five years and wants to take one out. Pleasepleaseplease, he begs. He’s almost hopping with want, his eyes pleading– the unfairness of the universe written deeply into his every gesture.

Walking toward us is a heavy, young man who looks like might work in a video store and along beside him is the most beautiful girl in the world. His body language is a little bit separate, like he knows he’s not supposed to get too close, and there’s a kindness, a sensitivity to the way that his heavy blonde hair falls and curls to his shoulders. He’s shy, you can see that, and suddenly the most beautiful girl in the world grabs him by the hand and pulls him in to her and begins to neck with him right there in the middle of the sidewalk. It’s the final scene in a movie, and time stops as we all fade like ghosts into the background and they glow, the radiant center of this moment that will never be forgotten or repeated.

In short order he showed up, letting another student out of the car and then waving me in.

Me: Alpas, good to see you! You’re looking well, that’s a spiffy Dashoko you’re wearing!

Alpas: You mean Dashiki, but thank you, my wife bought it for me.

Me: Sorry, Dashiko.

Alpas: Dashiki.

Me: Yes, well it’s way better than that last thing you were wearing, that was ratty. How many wives do you have, anyway? Is it one of those situations where one wife has really good taste in Dashoks and the other doesn’t have a clue?

Alpas: I only have one wife, Michael, just like you. We should start with our lesson now. I will need you to concentrate if you are to improve.

Me: I am focused.

Alpas: Please start. Pull out into the street slowly, remembering to check your rear view mirror and signal.

Me: What?

Alpas: Remember to watch for other cars.

Me: Rachelle and I just got back from Cuba, they’ve got some crazy, beautiful cars there.

Alpas: You are approaching a stop sign, cover your brake.

Me: Yes, sir!

Alpas: It is an All Stop. Do you remember what that means?

Me: All Stop. That sounds like your name, Alpas.

Alpas: No it doesn’t.

Me: Yes it does,

Alpas: Why, because they both start with A?

Me: No, because they both start with AL.

Alpas: Sometimes you are very much like a child, and there is a reason why children are not allowed to drive. They cannot concentrate, that is the reason.

Me: I see.

Alpas: The student I had before you, she has failed the test four times. She cannot concentrate.

Me: So you’re saying I’m like that other student.

Alpas: Yes.

Me: Maybe she’s failed four times because you’re a lousy teacher, have you thought of that?

Alpas: (Sigh) Please watch the speed limit. You are going a little fast.

At this point I glanced down at the speedometer to see how fast I was going and when I looked up a squirrel was darting across the street in front of me. He stood up on his hind legs and stared into my eyes, into my soul.

Me: Sweet Jesus, it’s a squirrel!

There was a little thud.

Alpas: Michael, there are many squirrels in Toronto, do not worry about them. They had a bountiful winter and now some are called home to be with their ancestors. God has a plan for all of us.

And then he put his hand on my shoulder and I knew that our fight was over. Things were different, and I knew that from this point forth things would always be different.