A Letter To T

Dear T,

Right off the top, let’s clear the air. Are you, or are you not, related to Mr. T? 

I’ll wait.

Doo doo doo, doo doo doo doo doo, doo doo doo doo DOO, doo doo doo doo doo, doo doo doo doo doo doo doo doo, da, da da da, da, da da, dum dum.

That was the Jeopardy music, for those of you playing along at home.

Reveal your answer, T!

“What is no?”

Good question. What is no? 

So I take it, you’re not related to Mr. T. It’s fine. 

Perhaps you want to be referred to as T because you’re from Toronto? You’re not really from Toronto though, right? I say I’m from Toronto too, and so do some other bloggers, but we don’t literally mean Toronto. 

We live around there, the greater area of Toronto, if you will. Wink wink, nudge nudge.

Unless you do actually live in Toronto, them I’m winking at and nudging strangers. Wouldn’t be the first time! Ha! Actually, I think it would be the first time.

Except maybe once on the subway. I once had this older man fall asleep on my shoulder. I let him stay there until I had to get off then I sort of nudged him to wake up.

Hey, we all need a pillow and no one likes to be woken up mid-sleep. I did my good deed of the day.

I guess he likes firm pillows because my shoulders are rock hard. Ba dum shhh.

Walking around downtown Toronto is quite the experience. Mainly because there are a lot of people and narrow sidewalks, especially when the Blue Jays play. However, no matter how busy the sidewalks are, strangers always seem to seek me out when they need directions.

I cannot explain it. Maybe I just have a welcoming, non-threatening disposition that people feel comfortable approaching? Might as well call me Paul E. Directions because if it weren’t for me, at least a dozen people would still be lost in Toronto.

Transitioning away from things that start with the letter T, let’s talk about the letter H. You know where this is going.

House warming presents!

Just kidding.

Hippos! 

I might not be the biggest animal person in the world, but I can appreciate other’s affection towards them. Such as yours with Hippos. 

It always brings a smile to my face when you mention Hippos on your blog because I can tell you were probably smiling as you wrote about them. It makes me want to go find a penguin and hug it. 

Are penguins slippery? Should I only hug the penguins that are wearing clothes? What’s the proper etiquette?

Speaking of penguins…funny how this letter transitions into new things so seamlessly eh?

Speaking of penguins, the other day I tweeted about how I was watching an episode of Pingu on YouTube. I thought, “Ah, this tweet will go untouched and sail over everyone’s head, and then in 7 hours I’ll feel embarrassed about it and delete it when no one’s watching.”

But no! You commented on it and restored my faith in Pingu fans worldwide. Or maybe just locally. 

Seriously though, why was Pingu using the stove without parental supervision? And why did he think it was okay to give the townspeople (townspenguins?) popcorn that had been on the ground?

Very questionable life lessons, but hella entertaining.

I just used the word “hella” for the first time on this blog. How’d I do? 

Speaking of doing things…another seamless transition.

Speaking of doing things, you wanted me to tell you about that time I met a pirate queen. Well, okay.

It was a dark and stormy night because that’s when pirates come out to play. I was at Queen Station – you know the place, probably.

All of a sudden the subway stalled and the lights went out and onto the train walked a person in a pirate outfit. They had Polly the Parrot propped on the left shoulder. If it weren’t Halloween, it would’ve been weird.

So the pirate got a phone call and I’m assuming the person they were talking to asked them where they were because the pirate replied with, “I’m in a subway y’ar.”

Get it? Like “Subway car” but they’re a pirate so….ah, you get it.

Then they sat next to me and asked me my name. I said it was Polly, just to mess with them. Their eyes widened and then they said, “Golly, I got a Polly on my left and right shoulder.”

And then the pirate took out some cashews to feed Polly. Do parrots eat cashews? Because the pirate was feeding them to me. Ha!

I named it the Pirate Queen because it was a pirate at Queen station.

End scene.

Well, that was fun.

Fun…happy things…things outside…garden gnomes. Garden Gnomes!

I am killing it with these transitions, let me tell ya!

You told me that garden gnomes are of interest to you. There used to be a garden gnome in my neighbourhood. I always thought it was a year-round version of the scarecrow. I mean, would you trust a garden gnome in front of someone’s house?

Methinks it moves at night like the toys in Toy Story. You don’t just have a silent “G” in your name and not cause mischief.

Speaking of names….you asked me how I got the name Paul.

My parents gave it to me. Apparently, “Thomas” was also in the running but they liked Paul more.

Could you imagine if my name were Thomas? I would be a runaway train with the Thomas the Tank Engine puns. See!

As it is, my name offers up many puns for my disposal. I like my name. In Grade 2, we went around the class and had to clap out the number of syllables in our name.

Everyone had anywhere between 2-4 claps. Then it was my turn to shine.

Paul. One clap. Everyone laughed. It was great.

Well, I must be going now. It’s a cloudy, rainy day and it would be a waste if I don’t go stare out the window and listen to slow music. I’m only half kidding. 

Thank you for reading my blog and being a supporter of all things ridiculous that I write about. It really means a lot.

With one clap,

P