100% genuine gossip, sourced by Our Woman in Hastings County. Information provided for entertainment purposes only, keep it to yourself. Previously.
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What popular fast food chain is deliberately withholding ketchup packets from customers placing take-out orders? A certain father and amateur distillery operator estimates he’s requested ketchup on eighty separate orders, and received it once. Calling their customer service hotline has proved unhelpful at best.
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Which elderly parish priest’s radical queer sermon, railing fiercely against intolerance, gradually revealed itself over the course of 15 minutes to be based on having confused the word “homophobia” with “xenophobia”? PFLAG has withdrawn their congratulatory gift basket.
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Rumour has it that a greenhouse operator with a tabby cat went through $600 worth of propane in three days during the worst of the winter, just to keep her plants alive. They SAY propane will never run that high again, but when they’ve got you over a barrel, they know you’ll pay it!
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What sixty-something mother and grandmother left a note warning that she’d retrieved the LL Bean Adirondack chairs from the garage, but couldn’t remember where she’d put the wingnuts? For heaven’s sake, do not sit in those deathtraps.
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If you wonder why you’re not being offered pepper steak at [redacted farmhouse], let’s clear that up right now: the recipe may call for only two tablespoons of brandy, but when a certain middle-aged brother drinks the rest of the bottle each time, it becomes too expensive a meal to justify. You can hide it in the linen cupboard, he’ll still track it down.
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Which smug septuagenarian insists that there’s “no recipe” for her maple fudge? Seems to our sources that it’s perfect every time, she’s not making it in her sleep. Who does she think she is? Share the wealth!
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What sixty-something mother and grandmother left very explicit directions about opening the windows in the evening, barring thunderstorms? We hear she drastically misjudged the temperature on Wednesday night when she was off at her play, leaving the mainfloor terribly cold.
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Tags: blind items, canada, cancon, gossip, intrigue, something something canada, weird true tales
These are the best.
Delight.
I also sort of want The Toast’s version of Chris Kimball to show up in Rural Southern Ontario and just wreck shit darkly.
Which calamitous teenage child forgot to cut out the eyes of Old Tom’s scarecrow after the new moon? And what ancient fell race will gain a foothold into our realm as a result? Our sources indicate that only the sacrifice of a certain neighborly newborn will save our cursed little town.
Replace Rural Southern Ontario with Rural Maine and you’ve just reproduced 30% of all Stephen King novels.
It works the other way around; when he tries to ooze his way in the fundamental Canadianness of Rural Southern Ontario prevails and he is temporarily transformed into the merely vaguely menacing Chris Kimball of Cooks Illustrated.
Judging by her handwriting, you have stolen my own sixty-something mother and had her write her ransom notes in some kind of excessively charming code.
Inquiring minds wants to know: what news of the Shy Sheltie? Has he earned his Stud Merit Badge yet?
I would actually really like to know what fast food place isn’t giving away ketchup so I can AVOID IT WITH PREJUDICE.
Ketchup at home does not taste the same.
I am dying to hear more about that sermon.
T-Storms = Tyrannosaurus Storms
They’re ferocious, but the lightning bolts are really short.
Which elderly parish priest’s radical queer sermon, railing fiercely against intolerance, gradually revealed itself over the course of 15 minutes to be based on having confused the word “homophobia” with “xenophobia”? PFLAG has withdrawn their congratulatory gift basket.
WHAT’S ALL THIS I HEAR ABOUT BANNING VIOLINS ON TV
I hear she just announced she is a thespian. Isn’t that nice.
What play though?
Something Canadian. “Goodnight Desdemona (Goodmorning Juliet)” probably. Middle-aged Canadian women love Anne-Marie MacDonald.
THEY DO, RIGHT? It was “Quartet,” tho.
I choose to believe that recipes like the pepper steak are why they make teeny-tiny bottles of brandy. Yet for some reason they’re harder to find than the teeny-tiny bottles of whiskey and vodka.
That’s the way I make my recipes. Also, I use those tiny single serving bottles of cheap wine for cooking – I’m not wasting good wine on food, but also not wasting good food with “cooking” wine.
I don’t see many tiny wine bottles around here, but they have 1.5 serving cans which are surprisingly ok, so long as I pour the extra half serving into a glass to drink it. If I drink it from the can then it tastes tinny.
This was really a delight.
Tsk, I’ve just about had it with those smug septuagenarians…
So good! (Also my mother — I mean, “Which sixty-something New Englander ALSO uses the shorthand abbreviation for “with” in otherwise-regular sentences?)
That’s shorthand!?!? I thought it was a ’40s-’50s nursing school thing, but based on a sample size of 2 (Mom and aunt). Thanks!
It might be shorthand, but it’s definitely a nursing thing too; I use it all the time! I always thought it had something to do with Latin.
Google says yes, it’s medical. I wonder where my mother got it? Huh.
Vesperer blesses us with truth. It IS Latin. It is cum.
Get your minds out of the gutters.
It means “with.” Or sometimes “when” depending on context. In this instance “with.”
(Yeah. This is what you do with 2 degrees in Classics: troll the Internet for opportunities to make rude jokes.)
My favorite part of all of this is the I’m on it at the end of the lawn chair note.
Me too 🙂
Also, “Look but Don’t Sit.” So good. Just admire these magnificent chairs from afar, as they will surely break your coccyx.
Nicole’s mom, and the Great Red Dragon.
(Bone books 4eva!)
WAS IT A&W!?
I suddenly want LL Bean Adirondacks.
They’re all weather so I can leave them on the patio all winter!
But don’t lose the wing nuts!
I have so much trouble signing emails to my kids. Normally I sign them (to non-kids) Mel, and I'm constantly having to erase those last 2 letters & changing them to 'om.'
The water froze in the hand basins again, didn’t it?
Winter without end!
Nicole's mom, and the Great Red Dragon.
(Bone books 4eva!)
The smug septuagenerian one made me smile. To this day, I still regret never writing down the recipe for my Ontarian grandmother’s maple fudge. (I remember watching her make it; I remember she used a candy thermometer; alas, I can’t remember the proportions or the cooking process.)