Okay - so the other day I'm dropping a friend off at home after her shift at her job.
She lives in a tidy little neighbourhood of row houses that face an elementary school across a semi-busy but slow-travellin' road.
It's all part of the charm of Lanark County.
My pal points out that her neighbours are barbecuing again. I glance over and notice the smoke. They are settin' up picnic camp in their driveway, and the 'cue smoke is comin' up on noxious.
I don't think much of it as we say goodbye and I pull out of her driveway. As I pass by the neighbour's house again, I notice a small brunette totin' a chainsaw.
And she's headed for what's left of a bed frame from a child's room.
Her behaviour doesn't have to be construed as odd, I suppose. We women are emotional creatures. There's all sorts of reasons she could be chainsaw-ing the living hell out of a children's bed. Anger, revenge, desperation for new furniture. . . one could only wonder.
But her needs were even more basic than unbalanced chemistry. . . the missus was going to town on what was left of the bed with that chainsaw a roarin' for a baser need, a primitive need, if you will.
The bed was made in to manageable pieces of kindling to follow the rest of its mates, already on the 'cue, heatin' up the grill for some meat, boy howdy.
Yup. If you start cuttin' up your children's furniture to provide fuel for your barbecue . . . YOU. ARE. A. REDNECK.
