Where it’s real. Not Canadian House and Home, not Martha, not egocentric or unapologetic. Real like cat fur on furniture and an overgrown garden and loving the Leafs no matter what. Real like a loving a freezing cold day with a brilliant blue sky after maybe a zillion years of grey and really not liking meat and potatoes and I didn’t vote for Rob Ford so whatever he does is not for me, I just need people to know that. Real is a sex ed curriculum that reflects that world we live in and being okay when you see veins on someone’s legs because veins are supposed to be there and finding out that water really is the yummiest drink ever. Real is secondhand and used and loved again and the Humane Society and explaining yourself and not believing in groundhogs predicting the weather but being okay with the idea of groundhogs predicting the weather.
Perfectionists are jerks.