Bonfire of the Vanities

5 11 2008

Today is Bonfire Day. And I’m not even making that up. It’s also called Guy Fawkes Day, a UK tradition I learned about as a kid, when our neighbours returned from a year living in England. That November, we had a big bonfire and a party in their yard.  We even had us a good ol’ fashioned effigy burnin’. Not of Guy Fawkes though. Brian Mulroney, if I recall correctly. Oh, those crazy left wing hippie fire-starter parents of ours! But clearly some of it rubbed off on me, and clung to my psyche like the scent of burning newspaper stuffed in an old sweater vest. I’m contemplating a little fire of my own tonight…

But who or what would I possibly want to burn in effigy? Who would I symbolically set ablaze, as an expression of my ideals and a statement about all that is wrong with the world today? Stephen Harper? Sarah Palin? Dora “Say! It! Louder!” the Explorer? No. I’m not interested in making a political statement. I’m more interested in channeling my pyromania for practical purposes ,and in taking a can of gas and a match to something that symbolizes the epitome of inefficient engineering and false promises to poor unsuspecting parents. I plan on setting fire to inconvenience incarnate. You see, we finally got a new stroller.

If need be, you can get the background on our little stroller saga here. Don’t worry, I’ll wait patiently until you get caught up. All done? Good. Well, I waited and waited and waited for some knight in shining titanium tube framing to come rescue my baby and me from the clutches of that Eddie Bauer Travel System monstrosity. But apparently, no fancy stroller makers heard my desperate pleas, so with the knowledge that any more than a centimetre of snow would render that stroller useless, and with an East Coast winter looming, we took matters into our own hands. We got a single Baby Jogger, and it is everything I dreamed it would be. Big honkin’ tires. One-handed steering. It turns when I want it to turn. It moves when I want it to move. It has a tray for Squiggles. And a cup holder for me. A too-small canvas cup holder, but that does not matter. I’ll just start drinking smaller coffees. I’ll have to. That beautiful sucker set us back five hundred bucks. We’ll also be cutting Squiggle’s shoes from our clothing budget for the next eight years because she will be securely strapped into this stroller until she reaches the 75 pound weight restriction. This is our last stroller. I am determined to get my money’s worth by driving it into the effing ground.

As for the other despicable contraption, I’m seriously considering sneaking out under the cover of darkness and torching that mofo. I’m pretty sure this city has bylaws about bonfires, or, more accurately, burning garbage on your lawn. And I’m pretty sure it’s too late to get a permit. But maybe if I dress it up like Steven Harper, or Sarah Palin, or Dora the Explorer, and maybe if I throw on a British accent, and explain the whole Guy Fawkes Day-effigy-burning tradition thing whilst pleading bloody ignorance to this city’s rules and regulations…I just might get away with it.




One response

6 11 2008

I wish I would have read your post prior to going into ParentsCanada the other day. Our new tech gal was talking about the celebration and had to admit I didn’t know what she meant. I thought she said, Guy Fox and I was thinking, like, Terry Fox?

Anyway, I hope your burning celebration was full of fire-y fun.

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