So, one evening, you and your wife are sitting in the parlour when you here a car pull into the driveway. Oh good...your daughter is back from her date (at this point you're relieved that she's into the D)...and her new boyfriend kisses her goodnight. As the boyfriend pulls away, you notice his foreign car has Ontario plates...
hmmm...
She walks in through the front door and Mrs. Wagon immediately starts pressing her for the goods.
"Oh mom! He's wonderful! Such a gentleman. I think he's 'the ONE'!"
"Dear I'm so happy!"
"Yeah mom...I never thought I'd luck out with a Canadian. Also, HE'S SO FUNNY! I think I can even get over his lefty stuff! Always talking about socialism. LOL, Mom and Dad!"
~ at this point, your chest feels a little tight ~
After a short romance...OOOPS!...Daughter Wagon announcing she has a bun in the oven! But the dashing Canuck is a man of honour...he asks her to marry him...and after all, he really does love her.
You don't understand 3-down football and he doesn't understand why anyone would go out in public wearing Royals gear, but it's cool...you crush a few rice beers and accept him. You're happy, even.
As you walk your little darling down the aisle, past the Royal Canadian Mounted Police Ceremonial Guard, a tear wells up in your eye. This is your girl's big day. Just like when you and Mrs. Wagon tied the knot. You can't wait for Christmases and Thanksgivings to hold your precious grandchild.
As you present the blushing bride to her groom, he turns to you and...in a sly Canuckian fashion whispers:
"Yo' Wags. 'Sup slaphead...it's me...MARTY!"
So my question to you remains...
Do you call me "son"?
