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(To be sung in your head like the classic Christmas song, “Winter Wonderland”) Bike bells ring, are you listening? In the rain, cheese wheels are glistening, a mooi prachtig night, tall ones out tonight, walking in a kerstmis Netherlands. Blown away, by the strong winds, Here to stay, in these flat lands.
Cat on the tree, what are you doing? That tree’s not for you, what’s that you’re chewing?! The lights are all hung, the house all aglow, but where is the cat? Oh no, ohhhh noooo. The ornaments swing, on the branches all nice, and icicle lights, shimmer like ice. But where is that cat, now where has he gone?
There is much to be said for Canadian’s and their infamous ways. We are somewhat of an enigma to the rest of the world, and especially to our southern neighbours. We live in igloos, we play hockey, we ride polar bears to our day jobs at the maple syrup factory, and our diets subsist of bacon, and this mysterious meal rarely seen outside our own borders: Poutine. We are a majestic and bearded populace, and we have great taste when it comes to beer. Oh, and free healthcare. That’s a thing. The ‘Po
When starting their first job, most people are at the lowest rung. Me? I was there at least four times before I finally crawled my way through the glorious swamp they call ‘the workforce’. Customer service, especially for a person who struggles with social cues (AKA an introvert), is possibly the worst imaginable thing when picturing a first job. Or a second. Or even a third. Okay, so holding a stop sign for fourteen hours probably isn’t that exciting either. But, nothing is worse for a