What middle-aged brother and sister who live off Old Highway 2 just past the four corners have been secretly adjusting the damper on their fireplace every time the other leaves the room for the last eight years? Sources report that heavy sighs and performative sweater-donning have reached an all-time high, and attempts by well-meaning family members to intervene continue to meet with silence from both camps.
As our tipster reports: “there’s no point explaining how the damper works, it takes less time to do it myself. You just stand there where you can see his car coming down the lane and holler.”
What prominent nonagenarian is sitting on not one, but two glass pie-plates belonging to a fellow parishoner at Holy Name of Mary? Sources report that’s the last time that parishoner will agree to operate the religious goods counter instead of keeping her eye on clean-up.
What Napanee resident recently moved to a new apartment rather than confront her landlady again about her failed promise to fix the window sealing? “It’s been eleven years, she said she’d do one a year, and she’s only done two in all that time,” a third party whispered to our reporter. “What choice did [redacted] have?” The landlady in question believes the tenant to have moved to a bungalow in order to downsize, but we hear the new apartment has two stories, just like the old one. What if they meet while at the Bank of Montreal on Center Street and uncomfortable questions are asked? Watch this space for developments.
Everyone knows there are two different switches to operate the pump in the basement, one to pull the water from the cistern and one to fill the cistern from the well, but what middle-aged brother, a mainstay of Southern Ontario gossip columns, can never find the second one unless you yell down to the basement to talk him through it?
What local Sheltie (not pictured) has still failed to seal the deal as a stud dog? He tries, the sweet boy, but doesn’t seem to have a clue what’s expected of him. Beginning to think those things are just there for show!
The plot thickens: No interest in doing the job he’s been assigned, but come spring he’ll get across the road and go visit that German Shepherd bitch every chance he gets.
What go-getting sixty-something do-gooder has been spotted making weed brownies for the elderly and infirm? Some say she should put a little bud in with the shake, but others say if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it!
What visiting ladyblogger notably failed to eat her salad on Wednesday night? Apparently, she only pushed it around on her plate. Did the ladyblogger really fill up on poutine not one hour before, as she claimed? Did she not make her aversion to raw onions known when the salad was being prepared? Does she have an eating disorder? Is that why she’s been wearing the same oversized Old Navy hoodie since she arrived and hasn’t so much as taken a comb to her hair? She’s been receiving querying text messages about it, but we suspect she’ll be confronted in person before much longer.
What television meteorologist looks better in bright colours? You wouldn’t think that red jeans and a wine-coloured top would work, but we’re told that she once wore a black sheath, turned sideways, and disappeared from view completely. Is she better than the short meteorologist? Opinions differ. How does she rank against the old meteorologist who was also on the Olympic curling team? It’s times like these we rely on the collective memory of our elders: area dads think the one in bright colours says “and so” too often, but that the one who was on the curling team always wore garish lipstick. The short one? No excuse for having a man read the weather.
What former village mailman continues to be living #hisbestlife in a Belleville nursing home? All he’s ever wanted is to have a piece of paper with the menu for his next seven meals displayed in an easily-accessible location, you know. A bevy of area widows wouldn’t mind moving in on that river-view front room, but the man never went on a date in his life and doesn’t want to start now. Rumor has it his failing memory is easily concealed by addressing all women as “Mary.” On the rare chance a woman in a nursing home in Belleville is NOT called Mary, “I mistook you for your younger sister” is all the rejoinder he’ll ever need.
If you live between Belleville and Kingston, south of Highway 7, and have any tidbits for this column, please email the author. Your privacy is guaranteed.
Nicole is an Editor of The Toast.