Chester is in to politics. He is in to politics the same way I am into chocolate and movies. If Chester had to make a choice between me and watching ten hours straight of political shows on CNN...well, let’s just say that my tender ego would never survive. Which means I’ll never ask.
Now I’ve never been one of those girls who changes what she likes for a boy. Except that one unfortunate boy who liked me to wear baseball caps all the time...maybe I gave in to him a little. He was a very good kisser. Allowances needed to be made. But other than him, it’s just not my scene. I figure you’re not really meant to have all the same interests anyways, right? Like shopping. The last thing I ever want a man to do with me is shop. I have friends who are much more fun and have much better taste to take shopping with me. Plus, they won’t sigh when I say things like ‘just one more store, I promise.’
But Chester and politics go together like peanut butter and jelly. It’s not just a hobby of his. It’s his whole life. He is politics. On one of our first dates we were sitting in a pub and he was telling me a story about a girl who didn’t know who David Miller was. We both laughed heartily at her ignorance. He went to the washroom and the bartender whispered to me ‘He’s the mayor of Toronto.’
So I’ve decided to take a marginal, begrudging and taciturn interest. For his sake. Because it seems to make him happy and I guess I’m sort of a nice person on some level. So the last time I visited him in his disturbingly clean apartment and he wanted to talk politics I thought, fine. I have a glass of wine. The sun is shining. I can afford to be generous. Besides, how boring could it be?
Mind-numbingly boring. Wanting to scream and run from the building boring. Lose my appetite and maybe even take a little nap while he’s not looking boring. Not that Chester is boring...no. Chester if you’re reading this, you are not boring. You are more fun than a barrel of monkeys.
Let’s be honest here – there’s only so much you can say about politics. Particularly if you’re discussing it with someone like me. I have the attention span of a gnat. He was trying to tell me something about a no confidence vote and all I was thinking was “Hmm, his patio door is wide open. I wonder if a bird could fly in here? Would it be rude of me to ask him to go shut the door? I wonder where we’re going for dinner? Should I wear my new black top?” You see what I mean.
However I do have a solution. Screw the Liberals, the Conservatives, the NDP’s. We need a Magic Party. We need a Minister of Magic, just like in Harry Potter. How much more fun would that be? You want me to get behind a candidate? Tell him he has to transfigure my cat into a laptop. Michael Ignatieff wants us to support a no confidence vote? (see? I did listen a little) Sure. As soon as he can levitate and use non verbal spells, I’ll be happy to hear anything he has to say about the budget.
After all, why the hell are we voting for these people? They aren’t any different from us. I want them to be significantly better at something before I vote for them. Even if one of them was a superior juggler...I might be able to jump on board with that. Or an excellent thumb wrestler – I bet I could kick Stephen Harper’s butt at thumb wrestling. And if that’s true, doesn’t that mean he shouldn’t really be allowed to run the country? Shouldn’t he have to win at everything before he can run the country?
So that’s my solution. If we want people to get more interested in Canadian politics, teach some of these stodgy fools how to joust. Or compete in an arm wrestling tournament. You’ve gotta trust a good arm wrestler, after all. I bet that Iggy would get thrashed. He looks like a pansy to me.
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