A Letter To Ely

Dear Ely,

I have this image in my head of someone calling you and asking for Eli, which is of course a mispronunciation of your name. Then I imagine you saying, “That’s not my name ay ay ay ay ay” (hopefully you got that reference). 

Then they’ll ask you how to pronounce your name and you’ll respond, “Ely. Like LED. Because I’m bright, like a light, and you can’t even pronounce a three letter name, Mr. Solar Panel.”

*Phone drop*

Has that scenario happened to you before? If not, it must. Make it happen!

As for me, my name is quite simple. So simple, in fact, that a FedEx guy once typed my name into his little keypad contraption as “Pal”. 

I told him it was wrong and he should’ve typed in “Nan” instead. He asked, “Why Nan?” He didn’t understand so I had to spell it out for him.

New Arch-Nemesis. Nan.

Alright, so the Nan part didn’t happen, but the Pal part did. As if my name isn’t short enough.

I guess it could’ve been worse. He could’ve typed in “Pul”. That would’ve confused everyone. People would probably call me “Push”. No one knows the difference between push and pull.

That was a door joke. I don’t think I’ve ever made a door joke. I’m breaking new ground! Or doors! I’m breaking things. Save the rain forest!

I don’t know.

You and I share a “borderline disliking towards cats”. Your words, not mine. I agree with you, though.

I just…I just don’t know. I mean, cats have feelings. I get it. I just don’t care about their feelings. Maybe deep down I want to be a cat. It looks like the best life, outside of a panda.

Oh man, if I could be a panda. You have to watch the YouTube video of pandas going down a slide. 

Back to cats.

They’ve never been nice to me. They’ve yelled at me through windows. They’ve circled my yard. They’ve urinated in my backyard while staring me straight in the eyes.

My. Back. YARD!

My backyard. On the grass I put down with my calloused hands. How dare they!

Alright, I didn’t put any grass down. It’s been there since I was born. And my hands are as smooth as butter, but you get the point!

How do people get sticky hands? I don’t understand it. It’s never happened to me. Or how people get sweaty palms. Hwwwhat’s that about? My hands don’t sweat. They’re hands, not armpits.

See, I can’t even talk about cats without trailing off into a tangent about something else. I just don’t care. Sorry. If people like cats, they like cats. Me? Meh.

I probably feel this way because I’m 98% sure I was a dog in a previous life, but that’s a topic for another day. 

“Nooo Paul, tell me more about your dog-like tendencies.”

I’m sure you woof like to know more, but no-rooo.

Hey, you once had a cat and it drowned in your backyard pool. 

Bam. Talk about turning this one-sided conversation on its head. I’m skilled.

Alright, no more animal talk.

Ely, you bake cakes! Surprise! 

The pictures you post of your cakes are nothing short of incredibenomenal! Why do you not have your own TV show? You could bake your cake and eat it too!

At this time, I’d like to pause and brainstorm some ideas for your new show that no one has given you. Okay? Alright.

“D-Ely-Licious”

No. That sounds too…too. That sounds too too. There. You know what I mean.

“Frosting The Snowman”

Nope.

“Cake N Bake”

The N stands for “Nutritional” if anyone asks. Let’s hope no one asks because the sugar budget is through the roof.

“Whatcha Cookin’ At?”

Ehhh I think we have a winner! 

Done.

We now resume a letter already in progress.

….and that’s why I asked for some scotch while playing hopscotch in Grade 1.

Oh! Hi! Didn’t see you there. Welcome back. Just telling stories out of school here. Literally.

That scotch story was completely false, though. Don’t believe everything I write. I do most things for dramatic effect.

LOOK OUT!

See, dramatic effect.

When you requested this letter, you wanted me to taco ’bout why I’ve never had a taco before. You asked me a million and eight questions – that’s 1,000,008 for the visual learners at home – about it. Right now, I’m going to answer your questions one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one………skip a few, 99, 100.

1. Is it because it’s not an available food in Canada?

No. It is available. 

2. Is it because there are too many ingredients mixed together and wrapped up into a tortilla and this MESS in your mouth is an overwhelming thought?!

No. I don’t mind a mess in my….I shouldn’t finish this sentence.

3. Is it because they aren’t aesthetically pleasing to the eye?

Maybe. I have the ability to look at a food and know whether I’m going to like it or not. Tacos just send out alarm bells and the letters “Y”, “W”, and “H” appear in my mind. I think it’s a word jumble. Help me solve it?

4. Is it because you fear tacos will take over your life because they’re conspiring with the alien cats to rule planet earth?

Getting warmer.

5. Is it because you had nightmares of tacos eating YOU inside of a tortilla?

That’s a personal question.

6. Did someone hit you with a taco in a stadium during a hockey game and it stained your favourite jersey and now you’re all like TACO LIVES DO NOT MATTER!

No, but now I have a new fear. Thanks.

7. Are you on taco strike?!

Yes. I’ve struck them from my diet.

Those were your questions. Those were my answers. I hope that clears the air, woof and for all.

Then you told me there was a 1-800 number for this sort of thing. I appreciate it.

Now, I could tell you a story about why I’m not interested in tacos, but that would take too long and I prefer people coming to their own conclusions.

Why clarify, when people can gossip, right?

Right!

We’ll taco ’bout it another time, I guess.

Alright, as I close this letter, there are things I should say.

First off, I just want to thank you for caring about my blog and the words I put on it. Thank you for a being a friend who I can rely on for really long messages on my posts while you’re sitting in traffic.

Yeah, about that. Stop it! Stop reading my blog while driving! I don’t want to be the cause of death for anyone.

Simply park in the middle of the road, stand on the roof of your car, and read my blog post aloud. Get a megaphone if you need one! 

Also, thank you for somehow getting on WordPress’ bad side and having some of your comments end up in my spam folder. That’s talent!

Your blog is incredible. You literally give no fox, as your blog name suggests. You say what you want to say and don’t care who likes it. That’s admirable. We also have the same ridiculous sense of humour, so that’s terrifying great.

You’re one of the hardest working people I know, and I don’t even know you. You have a beautiful family and a new dog – which I assume isn’t allowed anywhere near swimming pools?

Anyways, I’m glad our blogs crossed paths and all that stuff yada yada yada, alright too much mush.

“Mush” – that’s what snow dogs hear all day.

I know you enjoyed this letter so I’m not even going to bother saying, “I hope you enjoyed it.” Waste of words.

I’m trying to be succinct!

With a woof woof here and a woof woof there,

Paul

 

If you’re wondering why I’m writing letters, read this.