Did I ever tell you that Patrick and I met for the first time (in person) in Toronto? Our first kiss took place just around the corner from the Shoe Museum. A Museum of Shoes. Two reasons right there for Toronto to earn a special place in my heart for perpetuity.
Meeting Catherine, a.k.a., Her Bad Mother, this summer gave me a third. I am guest posting about my cultural identity crisis over at her place today. Join us. We will feast on timbits and tasty, tasty socialized medicine. There may even be poutine. And no, that is not the french Canadian word for flatulence.