In Which Sheena Returns to Her Beer Garden Queen Roots

Sitting in the kitchen. Coffee in hand. Reading the paper. Surfin' the net. A low hum wafts through the screen door on a warm sunny Saturday morning. The hum turns into a high pitched whine. Like a flock of giant mosquitos searching for the increasingly pulsating vein of excitement rising in Sheena's quivering arms. Goosebumps rise out of her taut tanned skin.

It's Qualifying Day and I'm not there. Where are my Beer Garden Queen sisters? Where are the Canadian Girls Kick Ass t-shirts? Where's the plastic gin-to-go for the streetcar ride down to the CNE? Where the hell are my mardi gras beads?

Surely a sign of getting old. For a decade the Saturday before the Toronto Molson Indy was the highlight of Sheena's social calendar. Up at 7, raspberry SourPuss shooters by 8. (BEFORE brushing teeth, of course...ewww...). Plastic containers full of ice tea and lemonade spiked and iced for the day. Do an obligatory hour of practice laps spectating, scam a few driver autographs in the paddock afterwards and then decamp for a 7 hour Beer Garden marathon on Thunder Alley.

Over the years, our little tribe of bad-mannered women have danced in the rain to any number of bad CanConClassic Rock bands, built condos out of empty beer cups, eaten unidentified greasy meat products, convinced bank managers to expose their private parts and taken enough incriminating photos to max out all of our RRSPs.

And this year Sheena sits alone. In the kitchen. Anguished by the taunts of the turbo engines only blocks away. Sober at 10 am. And missing her fellow Queens terribly right now.