Dear Mulroney

The thing is, I really didn’t mean for this to happen.

No, honestly. Don’t look at me like that. Well, I mean, I don’t know for sure that you’re looking at me like that, but I know you well enough to make an educated guess that you’re looking at me like that, so, you know, don’t. I’m not sure if there’s any truth to that thing my grandma used to say – you know, if the wind changes, you’ll be stuck like that – but I’m reasonably convinced that you don’t want to end up with a face like yours is right now.

Anyway, back to my point, which was that none of this is my fault. Well, it kind of is, in a roundabout sort of way, but, overall, I’m going to maintain that this was one of those cosmically planned events that would have happened any which way regardless. I mean, there was the doctor’s appointment, which – it could be argued – was the beginning of the whole thing; and then the traffic jam on the way to the restaurant, and the bills for the repair job, and all that other nonsense. But Mulroney, I think it started long before any of that, and if you haven’t already stopped reading, I’d like to explain exactly how it was that this all happened, and I’ve written a short poem to explain my opinion.

I’m kidding. I tried to write one, but I couldn’t think of anything to rhyme with ‘hospital’. I guess I’ll start where I’m most comfortable. Once upon a time.