A Cultural Education

My wife, Trisha and I, feel it is very important that Otto understands where he comes from. That is why, yesterday, on his first venture outside our house, Otto's first exposure was an ultimate testament to the culture in which he will be raised.

Of course, that culture is caucasian yuppiedom. It was an embarrassingly white kind of day, with boring, upper middle class plastered all over it.

We loaded up into our Volkswagon station wagon and headed to Osbourne Village (Winnipeggers will understand). We listened to an educated mix of Northern European post-punk synth bands on our way. Fever Ray and the like. You know, the usual.

Our first stop was Starbucks for a decaf, half-sweet white chocolate mocha and just a simple bold coffee for me...oh, what's that? Yukon blend? No, thanks, too nutty I think. We'll just go with the Pike Place....I guess. (eye roll).

From there we strolled over to American Apparel. Picked out some matching grey cardigans for the family. Strolling back towards the car, passed a record store. New Wilco album, huh? Very interesting. Have to remember to check that out on iTunes (You know, instead of just going into the store and buying it there.)

No time to doddle (that's right, I said doddle). Got to get home to our designer lap dog, Ralph. Half boston-terrier, half pug. Very cute but very hyper. We think it might have something to do with his medication*.

On the way home we discuss the trouble we've been having with Ralph's daycare. (You heard me). Monday's are getting too full and they've asked us to move to another day, but Peanut the Yorkie goes to Monday class and Ralph just won't manage without Peanut. Plus Sasha is so attached to Ralph, we won't be able to make a decision until we discuss it with her owners. (first world problems).

Yikes.

*(That was a joke. He's not on medication. It didn't agree with his stomach.)