The Flash is seated outside on a small chair beneath the shade of a tree. All around him toddlers sit crosslegged while the supervisor directs their questions to The Flash.

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

Rachelle: Oh.

Jones wakes up early from a nightmare.

“Hulk was fighting Spiderman and it made me upset and I cried.”

His heart so pure and simple, still so light.

Outside, it is just starting to snow. As I push the stroller up the street tiny snowflakes hit our faces. Impossibly intricate worlds dissolving upon contact. And Jones is happy, his tongue out, trying to catch them all. Joy now, all residue of his nightmare obliterated. The rest of us, the adults, we can travel decades, lifetimes with ours.

A woman passes smartly by. She is fresh, ready for work, for whatever might emerge into her day. This is the best version of herself that she is offering the world, everything still immaculate and hopeful at this hour. She smiles when she sees us, her lipstick perfectly red, perfectly expensive. And Jones points past her at a Santa Claus that sits on a roof, and beneath there is a large sun room attached to the house. Inside there are two nuns, both of them wearing African dresses, all golds and browns and bright white teeth. They are decorating for Christmas and they are happy, smiling and chatting with one another as they hang tinsel from a tree. It was as if somebody were saying, “Here, I give you beauty.” And to see this moment, to imagine the journeys that brought these women to this sweet, almost invisible point in time was a gift that had been laid in our path. Like light flaring unexpectedly before us, an encouragement for this, and all the days to follow.

1. Executive Order suspending Groupon purchases for medical procedures, including colonoscopies and all eye surgeries.
2. Executive Order creating a Task Force on toy reduction in the living room.
3. Executive Order restoring the “Rule of Law” at sleepy time. No lollipops. No ice cream. No more than 6 stories. No exceptions.
4. Executive Order protecting the household from foreign entry of sand, sticks, rocks of all kind, Play-Doh, cutlery and Spiderman lego into the bed.
5. Executive Order improving accountability and whistleblower protection at the Department of Picking Up Used Kleenex That Almost Landed In The Garbage But Did Not.
6. Executive Order prohibiting the use of Hate Speech such as “Daddy is stink face poo brain,” and, “ Daddy is stink face poo face!”
7. Executive Order consolidating withdrawal from The Chore List Accord, as it was a rotten deal for Mike who was always stuck with picking up all the toys AND doing all the dishes AND taking out the garbage, in spite of how tired his allergies make him. Hugely unfair!!
8. Executive Order creating a Comprehensive Plan for Reorganization of the front closet.
9. Executive Order establishing that I will no longer wear my “A-game shirt” with the basketball players on it beyond the house perimeter, as the un-ironic attention I receive from other women threatens my wife.
10. Executive Order imposing economic sanctions on The Red Lobster after that crappy “Admiral’s Feast,” dinner I ordered on Father’s Day.

    

Make Mike Great Again!

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

Rachelle: Well, how do you know that?

Rachelle: No.

Rachelle: Really?

Rachelle: She pretended to retch?

Rachelle: Because you told her you liked her sneakers?

Rachelle: That is pretty extreme.

Rachelle: Was this one of the sorority girls who lives down the street?

Rachelle: The one who looks like Jennifer Lawrence?

Rachelle: I thought so.

Rachelle: And did you tell her this in a way that sounded like what you really meant was that you wanted to see her naked?

Rachelle: I see.

Rachelle: Yes, of course.

Rachelle: Look, I know you’re just trying to generate some light in this crazy, angry world, Pickle, I get that!

Rachelle: And sure, somebody has to help scantily clad sorority girls who are 30 years younger than you, feel like they’re making the right fashion choices.

Rachelle: Imagine if every time one of them passed by a much, much, much older man and he didn’t say something about what they were wearing? What would happen then? Their self-esteem might just crater and then who knows what might happen?! It could be catastrophic!

Rachelle: I’m not being sarcastic.

Rachelle: No, I’m not.

Rachelle: Nope.

Rachelle: Jesus Pickle, OF COURSE I’m being sarcastic.

Rachelle: It’s amazing to me how slow you are to pick-up on sarcasm!

Rachelle: Like at the park when that woman was complimenting how high you could go on the swings?

Rachelle: That was sarcasm.

Rachelle: And at the drum circle, when that man said that you “displayed a beautiful mastery over movement?”

Rachelle: That was sarcasm, too.

Rachelle: Oh honey, I’m sorry.

Rachelle: I am.

Rachelle: You’re right, sarcasm truly is the lowest form of humour.

Rachelle: Look,  it’s taking me longer than I thought here, do you mind picking Jones up from daycare?

Rachelle: Oh, I didn’t realize your group was meeting tonight.

Rachelle: I think it’s sweet that you guys get together and play Dungeons and Drama every month! Do you think you could let Jones join in? He’d love to dress up as Spiderman for it!

Rachelle: Dungeons and Dragons?

Rachelle: Oh, I always thought it was Dungeons and Drama.

Rachelle: I don’t know, I guess because of all the screaming and Lord of the Rings languages. Just seemed really dramatic.

Rachelle: Like an even nerdier version of Improv dramatic.

Rachelle: Whatever.

Rachelle: Okay, I get it.

Rachelle: It’s not a children’s game.

Rachelle: Very sophisticated. Very strategic. Good leadership training.

Rachelle: I’m surprised corporations like Google and Starbucks don’t use it as a training tool for their employees.

Rachelle: It really is a journey of discovery, isn’t it, Pickle?

Rachelle: Yes.

Rachelle: That was about 98% sarcastic.

Rachelle: Okay, don’t worry about it. I’ll pick Jones up, and you, my little Dragonborn Sorcerer, you have a great time playing Dungeons and Diggers! xox

It was a hit.

A really big hit.

It became pretty hard to keep up, and then, after one reader misinterpreted my thoughts regarding the use of fire while giving a reading, I decided to step back to spend more time with my family. Regardless, the letters kept coming, and so I feel I owe it to my loyal fans to resurrect the column, which is what I’m doing right now.

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

Dear Bitter Writer:

You’re likely aware of the Twitter Challenge in which women were asked to, “Describe yourself like a male author would.” The point of this, of course, was to illustrate how men objectified women, but what I would find really interesting with you– as an impossibly mediocre white man in possession of a level of confidence that outstrips your very modest competencies by an incalculable magnitude– is to have you describe yourself. I have included a photograph in case you should need a reference point.

Lynn from Montreal

Dear Lynn:

In Havana he was known as “ La muerte incómoda.”

It was a term of respect, of great respect, in fact, and more than a little fear. What had Michael Murray done to earn such a nickname from the gentle people of Cuba?

Well, that’s a long and complicated story that will reveal itself in time, but for now we should just imagine the man as he sat there, commandingly, in the barber’s chair. His face was sad and lovely with bright things in it, and his most striking feature was his opaline green eyes, which could be both alluring or intimidating, as the situation required. A part of his barber’s apron fell open from the cooling breeze of the fan and revealed the shirt he was wearing. There were little baseball players on it. He looked up, his eyes clear and even as he wiped some sweat off his upper lip, “ ¿Cómo está mi calva haciendo allí?” he asked the trembling barber. And in that moment Murray’s beauty was revealed the edge of a very sharp knife.

Dear Bitter Writer:

It recently came to my attention that an author at a major publishing house threatened to slap a reviewer who didn’t like his moronic, insulting book, and I was wondering if the publishing house was going to punish him for it, or if white male authors can do literally anything?

Karen in Toronto

Dear Karen:

Have you seen White Male Author: Infinity War, yet?

Easily the best of the franchise. Just fantastic.

At any rate, this movie goes a long way to answer your question. In it, Thanos

attempts to destroy Planet Earth, and after incapacitating both The Avengers and The X-Men it seemed that victory was certain. Right at this despairing point in the movie, White Male Author showed up and blasted him with his laser pulses.

He then flew around Thanos so quickly that the wind currents kept him pinned to the ground while the other superheroes freed themselves from the Polaris Fog that Thanos had used to trap them, and then all together were able to cast Thanos back into the Canyons of Zorg. So it’s clear that although White Male Author is VERY powerful, certainly superior to Spiderman, he might not be as invincible as The Hulk or The Thing.

At any rate, even though White Male Author is very, very powerful, I don’t think he can do literally anything.

Me: (Examining the flyer he handed me while our dog Heidi was jumping about barking hysterically) Mister Adam Vaughan, let me quote here, it says, “I understand the transformative effect that good public transit can have on a community.”

Adam Vaughan: Yes, I think good transit is essential to relieve congestion, ease pollution and allow people of all income levels to have access to all the wonderful things our city has to offer.

Me: You know, I once saw a man expose his penis on the Queen streetcar.

(Awkward silence but for Heidi’s barking)

Me: It was there for people of all income levels to experience. Would you say that penis was one of the wonderful things our city has to offer? That it had the power to transform?

Adam Vaughan: I’d say that was an unfortunate incident that’s another example of the TTC being underfunded and the mentally ill underserved.

Me: One woman screamed and threw her knitting at him. It was a good strategy actually, as he hurried out through the back doors after that.

Adam Vaughan: Well, I’m running to become your Member of Parliament and I’m hoping I can rely on your support.

Me: I guess my endorsement would mean quite a bit for your campaign. I’m sure you want to get as many well-known writers as possible on board. Just makes sense, that.

Adam Vaughan: Yes, of course.

Me: I have a few more questions for you, do you mind?

Adam Vaughan: That’s why I’m here. Please, feel free!

Me: Well, the truth is that I know absolutely nothing about you other than what I just scanned on this flyer, so let’s start with some basics: If you could choose what to come back as, what would it be?

Adam Vaughan: Oh, geez, that’s a tough one.

Me: You can’t say “ a great fiscal policy for Toronto” or something lame like that.

Adam Vaughan: Spiderman. I’d love to be able to swing through the city.

Me: You can’t say Spiderman. He’s fictional. And that’s not much of an endorsement for our public transit, you know.

Adam Vaughan: Okay then, perhaps a cat. A cat that’s smart enough to take public transit.

Me: Good choice.

Adam Vaughan: Thanks.

Me: What do you consider the most overrated virtue?

Adam Vaughan: Probably piety, it’s a kind of arrogance. This sounds like the Vanity Fair questionnaire, is it?

Me: Yes, the bits of it I can remember, anyway. Personally, I think confidence is horribly overrated.

Adam Vaughan: I see. Are you on disability?

Me: No.

Adam Vaughan: Well, thank you for your time, and please remember to vote on Election Day!