A drive-by trip to Ottawa

"Pamela Wallin," said the woman I approached in Ottawa's 'Hy's Steakhouse' last Thursday, as she put out her hand.  I had, of course, seen her when we had walked by on the way to our table, but had waited until leaving before speaking to her. 

"I am a big supporter of yours," I lied.  I am not a supporter, but I wanted to talk to her and knew this would be the way to accomplish it.  "You have made my week," she replied with a broad smile, handing me her card.  I do, however, have to admire her guts and aplomb in bravely frequenting the most political establishment in Ottawa, instead of cowering over a sink eating a peanut butter sandwich in the dark. 

B and I had ventured to Ottawa last weekend at the invitation of the daughter of my best friend, who was turning 70.  It was a surprise party and I received an invitation.  Not considering attending, I nonetheless re-considered.  "What the hell, why not go?!" I said to B.  So we went.  Friday evening arrived and about 20 of us gathered in an upstairs room at 'La Roma' in Little Italy on Preston Street.  When "A" walked in and saw the crowd she covered her face and screamed.  "Nancy, Nancy!  What the hell?!!??"  Never in a million years would she have thought I would have flown 3,000 Ks at considerable expense to be there.  But I had and was so glad of it.

So, there we were.  Twenty of her best friends accumulated over the past 50 years; I was proud to have been among them.  A and I met in 1984 when planning Expo '86 in Transport Canada under then-Minister Don Mazankowski.  What a time we had over two years, travelling Canada and hitting Vancouver every month.  I remember being trapped in a Charlottetown hotel thanks to a huge snowstorm that even the plows could not brave.  What did we do?  Sat in the bar, drank cognac and laughed.  We also wore our mink coats and high heels to Vancouver, hoping some demented anti-fur freak would not spray-paint us.  Happily, didn't happen.  I had the one of the best jobs of my career and we kept in touch, mainly because we are no BS women. 

"Sometimes that's the only word that works," said one of the women at the table, pounding her fist into her palm for emphasis.  We were discussing the "C" word.  Can't really remember the last time I collaborated with another woman about the merits of the "C" word, but I am in total agreement.  Let's face it, some women beg for the moniker.  Now, I agree, men can't use it, but women can and know when it applies.  Same thing with the "eff" word.  One has to know when and how to use it to effect, otherwise it becomes crude.  "Nancy, how come when you say that word it never sounds like swearing?" drawled a Southern friend a few years ago.  "Because I know when and how to deploy it.  And you never drop the "g" when you say it.  It must be literal," I replied.

Don't you hate the PC crowd.