The Canadian Man
The Canadian man is quiet. The Canadian man is strong. The Canadian man is at peace with himself, his family, and the gentle creatures that surround him. He asks for little except respect. He works hard to survive, to provide, to feel free. The Canadian man is not afraid of dirt on his boots or under his nails. The Canadian man has a look in his eye that sees beyond his back yard.
Sheena fears the Canadian man has become a perpetual adolescent. A professional class of typists and gossips. The Canadian man needs to stop and think. About where he came from and where he wants to be. Before the Canadian woman simply does without.
This post inspired by a tag by Joanne on thing started by Kdough
posted by Sheena @ 7:21 PM
8 comments
8 Comments:
guess I ain't a Canadian nomore, or a man?
I'm a Canadian Goth Male, although now that I'm older I've long since given up the eye liner and the more flamboyant attire.
It's hard to tell me apart from a very dapper Amish fellow or an snappily dressed orthodox jew.
Or just a regular Canadian guy coming from his mom's funeral.
With my sartorial sensibilities can I really be called a Canadian Male?
Does the category allow for subgroups?
Oh, but like most most Canadian males... I am stalwart.
I guess you took your time to write just the write post. I love it.
If the Canadian man looks like Regis Philbin and has to sit in a rocking chair with cats all over him, I am seconds away from disposing of my Canadian penis.
Let me hand you the hack-saw, KD. That picture is HANGING ON MY LIVING ROOM WALL.
That picture sooooo describes me perfectly in 30 years. And baby, I can't wait.
I'm married to my cat.
The Canadian man is continually finding more tasks added to his job description. Most of type with dirt under our fingernails and grease on our bloody knuckles.
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