I never feared going to  the dentist. Well, I must also say that I keep my visits to the bare minimum which is why I was in for major tuneups the last time I went.  I went in with the innocence and abandon of a sleeping baby considering my husband had been going there for a while now and he assured me she was very efficient. So I told myself if my husband can take it so can I. Wrong. The thing is dear husband has a high pain threshold. I don’t.

“…I had more traffic in my open mouth than a merging lane during rush hour.”

Mulder soft palate is drilled
“What going to the dentist feels like…”

Picture: Courtesy of: http://x-files.wikia.com/wiki/Fox_Mulder%27s_abduction

So I booked an appointment and was greeted upon arrival by an extremely sweet desk clerk. Everything was going well until I stepped into the actual dentistry room. The dental assistant welcomed me in with what I thought was at first a thoughtful and considerate smile but in the aftermath I came to the realization that people on death rows must receive the exact same smile from powerless family members. Some tests were performed firsthand to determine the state of my teeth and judging by the resulting pursed lips from the dentist they were not satisfactory. The tests themselves made feel like a victim of aliens abduction, X-files style.

Now regarding the procedure itself, I always considered myself to be a delicate flower that must be treated with the utmost care but apparently in that office they did not get the memo. To put it nicely, it was fast and furious. My mouth was kept open unceremoniously with fingers and objects coming in and out of it at lightning speed. I had more traffic in my open mouth than a merging lane during rush hour. It was the longest 45 minutes of my life and the copious amounts of pain medication injected did absolutely nothing to relieve the constant drilling and pulling and scrubbing that felt like mini earthquakes. Months later, traumatized and still shocked I sometimes wonder if this dear dentist wasn’t a mechanic in a past life…which would have explained a lot of things and restored my faith in dentists all over the world (Insert Greek tragedy goddess emoji here).

“The tests themselves made me feel like a victim of aliens abduction, X-files style.”

In retrospect, I should have known because when I came in there was a little girl coming out of the dentistry room crying her heart out and to calm her down the receptionist gave her a toy. I sincerely wish they would give toys to adults too when they come out of there. Or at the very lest a hug. I know I would have appreciated one after that traumatizing experience. 

Needless to say after much deliberation I decided not to go back. I gathered a couple of suggestions from friends and family and most of them come highly recommended but I am so traumatized I can’t even bring myself to place a call for that first appointment. But I know  I have to… (Insert why me emoji here)

Are you afraid of the dentist too? Apparently it is a very common fear that I quite frankly didn’t expect to feel. Do you know of any tricks to help manage it? Any suggestions would be much appreciated. Until then talk to you soon! My next post will be on December 17th. Bisoux!


“…Next time you have an unplanned cheat day or week or whatever just do one thing: Pick yourself up and move on. It is as simple as this. Don’t starve yourself or sign up for a boot camp the next day. Just forget about it and move on…”

I swear the pizza was gluten free with light cheese …

It was around 8:00 pm and I had been home for about an hour. I was hungry and tired after a long day at work. After rummaging through the fridge looking for something ready to eat and finding nothing I went and sit at the kitchen table to check out my favorite Instagram accounts. Unfortunately for me there was a jar of peanut butter sitting right  in the middle of the table staring right at me. Crunchy peanut butter is my nemesis. One of these days I am gonna have to go to therapy for it. The minute my eyes fell on it I knew I was lost.

let’s just say I went hog wild. When I came back to self dear husband was standing across from me. Naturally he was making fun of me as usual.

“Okay you’ve downed 5 Tbs of peanut butter so far…you’re doing good!”

“You’re counting?”

“Let’s see…just yesterday you talked about 5 ways to stick to an exercise program, tonight you’ve downed 5 Tbs of peanut butter in just under 5 minutes…the number  five is clearly your lucky number”

I was caught red-handed. I was still hugging the peanut butter jar like a drowning a man would a lifeboat. I had two choices I could stand my ground and down two more Tbs or I  could lift my chin offended-sausage-dog style and stomp out of the room. Unclear on the path to take I decided to be bitchy instead:

“Okaaaay…are you like the WordPress food police or something? ”

“No, of course not, just merely reminding you that you’re human…after all”.

“The minute you declare yourself a fitness warrior, new demons arises to make you eat your words…or the fridge.”

He was right and I was ashamed. As a true Libra nothing angers me more than coming face to face with my own demons. You see I sincerely believe I was sent on earth as a guide for all who are lost.  Unfortunately for me I married a guy who believes in telling it like it is even if it means weeks of nagging and retaliation.

Can you imagine my guilt? Barely one day after my perfect post on  exercise. Well, I guess I needed a break from being good. So instead of retaliating some more I decided to do the only sensible thing winners (insert shameless emoji here) do under such dire circumstances: I picked myself up and move on. So next time you have an unplanned cheat day or week or whatever just do one thing: Pick yourself up and move on. It is as simple as this. Don’t starve yourself or sign up for a boot camp the next day. Just forget about it and move on.

Naturally considering the circumstances surrounding this betrayal, I’ll wait a few days before writing another saintly post:) After all I am only a budding hypocrite, not a full-blown one!

Please soothe my conscience and help me think I am not the only who’s ever done such thing by either commenting, liking or simply sharing this article to your heart’s content. I will be back with another post on December 10th! In the meantime Gros Bisoux!


5 things to help you stick to an exercise program

Know your exercise personality

Trying to rest my resting bitch face

Do you like it fast and furious or slow and steady and no I am not talking about sex. I used to think I like it fast and furious until a certain kickboxing class, well… kicked my ass. Now I’d say I like a slow build with some fast-paced intervals thrown in for good measure. The only way to know your exercise personality is to try lots of different exercise and see which ones you like most and why. Also, listen to your body at all times. 

Consider the best time for you to exercise.

Are you a morning person or a night owl? If you’re a night owl, schedule your workouts around that particular moment maybe at the end of your day when your energy is at its most. You might also want to consider your current home and work situation. Are you at your busiest now at work? How about your personal life? Then the last thing you want is the added guilt of not exercising as regularly as you would have wanted to because you overextended yourself. For me I am at my peak in the morning so I know if it doesn’t get done in the morning it probably won’t get done at all.

Start small but don’t underestimate the power of small wins over time

IMG_20171126_144756Start at the smallest unit you can perform even if all hell break lose and then build up from there.

The goal is to incorporate exercise slowly into your routine. Take for example the simple habit of drinking a green tea in the morning instead of coffee. Seems pretty simple and easy, right?  But practiced over time this small and rather insignificant action can have a ripple effect in the long run. I know for myself that when I start my morning with a nice cup of green tea it prompts me to make a better breakfast choice. A better breakfast choice in turn gives me more energy for the rest of the day and I am less likely to be tired and heavy comes lunch time. Since I am less heavy and tired at lunchtime I’ll most likely go for a quick walk. The effect continues on and on and pretty soon I am going to lunch hour walks and lifting weights in the mornings. Nothing makes me feel more accomplished and able to tackle the world than a green tea and some weightlifting afterwards.

It takes a period of 6 to 8 weeks to notice any significant change


Most people want quick results. They want to go from living in the fridge to living at the gym. They don’t understand that if it took say a year to put on 30 pounds it’ll most likely take just as much if not more to lose the same amount of weight. So during this period of time instead of constantly hopping on the scale, monitor your energy level, your sleep, your mood, etc… And remember feeling better usually precedes looking better. Use this period of time as a frame of reference when monitoring results. Only check results every 6 to 8 weeks and use your clothing as a measuring stick.

Buy yourself a few outfits for your current size 

Try to find a way to love yourself the size you are now instead of constantly trying to fit  back into your skinny clothes. How? First thing is to buy yourself a few outfits for the size you are now. Change your make up, change your hairstyle and your hair color if need be and change your wardrobe too. People morphology tend to change when they put on a lot of weight so keep that in mind and make changes where it matters.

IMG_20171126_141522 (1)
When the cat thinks she’s prettier

Constantly trying to fit into your skinny clothes will only serve to remind you of how fat you’ve become. So whatever you do, don’t do that. I beg of you. As you start to lose the weight these new clothes will start to get loose which will highlight your progress and not your failure.

What about you? what are your favorite tips when it comes to sticking to an exercise program? Don’t forget to comment like or share this article! Check back December 3rd for a new post. Talk soon!

Are you afraid of being happy?

Are you afraid of being happy? I am. But it wasn’t always the case. It started about 7 years ago. I remember it as vividly as the day it happened…

It is April fool’s day, year 2010 and I am at work. I am just finishing up a call and the other line is ringing. It is close to lunchtime but I figured one last call won’t kill me. Plus it could be my sister calling with some last minute details.  Nancy is travelling with some friends to some exotic place and is sending my niece to stay with me a couple of weeks. So I pick up, very excited. It is certainly not the voices I am expecting to hear. It is a person with a very formal and cold tone of voice.

  • “Hello May I speak with Mrs Duplessy?”
  • “This is she”
  • “Well , we have your niece here with us and she would like to speak to you.”

I relax. It is my niece. She probably missed her plane and is running late. Typical. Asking my niece to catch a plane on time is like asking a mouse to catch fish. It’s against nature. I wait readying myself with a long list of “I told you so”.  The minute I hear her voice I start:

  • “Well, well, well, let me guess you missed your plane again?”

No answer at first then I hear sobbing. I am a bit shocked and embarrassed.

  • “Don’t tell me you’re crying because you missed the plane?”

More sobbing. This time louder. She is becoming a tad bit hysterical. It is only then that it hit me. She is not at the airport and something is very wrong. Impatient, I ask her: “What’s wrong?”

  • “She is dead, she answered. Nancy’s dead!”

My brain went dark. Shutting down to process the piece of information I’ve just received.

“She is dead”, she keeps repeating as if she is trying to process the information too. I hear the voice with the cold and formal tone again. Someone who’s probably hospital staff took back the phone and is trying to explain the situation……

This was April 2010. Fast forward to 2017. I finally have enough distance to realize I was preventing myself from being happy. I was afraid as soon as I’d allow myself to be happy something wrong would happen. I simply had lost faith in life.

But now I know better. I have regained my faith in life. At least a good amount of it. After all, isn’t it what being happy’s all about? Being happy is choosing to have faith in life even though we know fully well things may take a turn for the worst in the blink of an eye. It’s to accept life’s ebb and flow and realize we can’t control everything no matter how hard we try. I should know. I am a control freak masquerading as a free spirit.

Here are some of the things I tell myself when I notice myself slipping back into “I am afraid of being happy” territory:

  • You’re 40 now. Technically you could be halfway through your entire lifespan so don’t waste it by thinking about what could go wrong.
  • Life is short. This could be your last happy moment so enjoy it.
  • We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.
  • Preventing yourself from enjoying this moment won’t spare you the hardship that may come.
  • You’re making memories to get you through the tough times when and if they come so embrace the moment.
  • Happiness is a matter of perspective so find a new perspective.

What about you? Are you afraid of being happy too sometimes? Do you know someone who’s afraid of being happy? How do you cope with those feelings? I think we all know at least one person.

Once again don’t forget to comment like or share this article! I’ll be back on the 25th with another article. Maybe out of sheer desperation of what to write I’ll share my food journal for the week 🙂


Last month I turned 40, October 10th to be precise. It was scary. It was good. I felt younger than I ever felt in my life. I also felt older than I ever felt. Why is that? I ask myself.

I was born in Haiti and when I was a child I remember I couldn’t wait to be older but not older like my mom. No. Older like my grandmother. It seemed to me she had it all. Children to guilt trip whenever they refuse to give into whatever she asks them to partake in no matter how unreasonable. Grandchildren to annoy. In Haiti older people are revered. They are believed to be wise and of a good influence. Although my grandmother was more like a very tall and old-looking child. Sometimes she behaved even worse than us children. She threw more tantrums than a teething baby.

Why God why.gif

Around here, it is like they expect people to fight to stay young at all cost. Specially women. and although it pains me greatly to admit it it does influence me in the end. While I consider it a privilege to grow old, there is a thought that has been haunting me lately.  At 40 years old, I feel as though I am sort of halfway through my life duration, that is of course if I am lucky enough to live to be 80 years old. So with that constantly in mind, I feel an overwhelming need to simplify my life. In life so much rests upon so little. Everything is so fragile. So today I want to take time and share 5 things I learned when turning 40. So here we go:

1)Keep a journal

No matter how hard a time you’re facing now, remember it won’t last forever. One day you’ll look at that memory and be amazed at how far you’ve come and you’ll be so proud of yourself. You’ll look fondly at something that used to traumatize or frustrate you and realize that nothing has changed except you. Naturally if you’re lucky it would also mean you’ve survived. I admit keeping a journal is something I struggle with but it is so worth it.

2) You can’t see the light without seeing the crap

Usually seeing the light is most often seeing as this sort of epiphany, like a life changing moment and it is but I think that’s rather the glamorized version. Unfortunately seeing the light also comes hand in hand with seeing the crap. It is like having 20/20 vision. At 40 I felt like somebody piled up all of my crap and locked me in a room with it. Everything is made clear including past mistakes, negative patterns, lies we keep feeding ourselves, etc.

3) Time our most precious resource so don’t squander it

Nowadays I won’t even blink in the direction of things and people that are not worth my time and energy. I feel like I can’t afford to. I have no tolerance for repeated pettiness, crassness, pure selfishness and all the likes. Lately I’ve gotten into the habit of constantly reevaluating everything and everyone in my life to see if they are deserving of my time and energy and forever redirecting that time and energy towards people and things that deserve to be valued and cherished.

4) You are the most important person in your universe

Try and spend time with yourself, protect yourself, cherish yourself, love yourself above and beyond. You hold it all together. You give it meaning. You deserve to be happy. You deserve to pursue things that make you happy. It is okay to say no to things and people that no longer serve you even if it is a family member. Only you know what you need. Nobody else does. Care for yourself first. Everything starts and ends with you.

5) Life is in the simple things

Little moments of happiness are as important as big ones if not more. Don’t neglect the small stuff. Nothing makes me happier than a juicy burger and Netflix with dear husband on a Friday night. Dynasty marathons never gets old to me. Christmas playlists even when it is not Christmas yet. Hot tea on a cold day. The list goes on and on. Once you start paying attention to the little things, you find even more little things to enjoy.

Does any of that resonate with you? Would love to hear your thoughts! Please don’t forget to comment, share or like this article. I hope to be back on the 19th with another article, wish me luck! 


The black Swan…or the ugly duckling

Version Française…

A nice perfect Saturday I was leisurely walking down Saint Laurent in the Mile-End neighborhood when I came across a nice little boutique. Looking in from the outside you’d think it a mere shop that sells ballet clothing but it was much more than that judging from the scribbling on the front window. It was a ballet class offering and it was very light and vivacious. If I had to translate it would probably be: “Whether you think you’re skinny, fat, in between, slim or slim fat, you can do it! Our ballet classes are fun and a great workout. Come on in, we’re waiting for you!”


So as they say fools rush in so I went. I usually avoid these types of places like the plague for the simple reason that there always seem to be lurking around some tall, long and lean person with cheetah-like muscle and a gazelle-like grace who can do it all including giving birth to 10 kids back to back while maintaining a perfect body to show us all mere mortal how it should be done. Considering that day I’d just had a heavy brunch, the last thing I needed was to be reminded of my round belly and my lack of body consciousness. Still against all odds I rushed in round belly and all. And it went rather…well. The minute I stepped in I was greeted by a long lean young woman. She was uncommonly friendly for these kind of places considering I in no way looked like the usual crowd. She looked like an adolescent boy with a bun and lipstick. We chatted a bit as she walk me through the different classes, schedules and general tone of the environment. Everything was going fine until the manager showed up. Then everything changed.

She installed herself behind the reception desk with a brief hello and gave me one of those looks that says it all. Pest control must greet vermin the same way. It was brief and cutting. She looked so scrubbed and healthy and shiny you’d think she is fresh out of the dishwasher. One look and you knew that everything down to her close friends and family is vegan and came straight from the earth bowels. I am sure she comes from a long line of all natural and homemade, heal-the-world, salt-of-the-earth vegans. Even her ancestors must have themselves been vegan even before the term was officially coined. I suspect just as in nobility or wealth it takes at least two generations to produce someone like her. Either that or she is a con artist in which case I need her autograph.

Standing under her gaze I felt self-conscious as if surrounded by the screaming souls of all the animals whose meat I have consumed over the years. It seemed as if they were asking for justice. An eye for an eye or at the very least forbiddance to enroll in the next ballet hop class. I felt like she could see my insides and the nice juicy, plum piece of steak I had just consumed under my husband meat-eating leadership over brunch. The young woman seeming not to notice the subtle “rapport de force” kept going on about the benefits. It is then that probably cornered and feeling unholy I did the unthinkable…I asked for the price of all of these wonderful classes.

The answer came from behind the desk, a quick and cutting, ‘it depends’ with a look that seems to say “don’t you low life meat eater have an insanity class waiting for you somewhere? Preferably where the sun doesn’t shine?” Finally, the young woman decided to put me out of my misery and blurted out the price. I gave her a much grateful look and said ‘thank’ you. We understood each other immediately and I left without asking further questions. I think from now on they’re gonna use the same tactic for all the flesh-eaters daring to step into Sacred territory.

Well, I guess I’ll have to put my black swan plans on ice:)


English Version…


Un jour je flânait sur la rue Saint Laurent dans le quartier Mile-end et je vois une petite boutique avec une devanture super intéressante qui proposait dans un langage super comique et fun de faire du ballet non traditionnel. L’enseigne était vraiment accrocheur, genre quelqu’un qui ne se prend pas trop au sérieux…comme moi. Après de longues minutes de réflexion je me décidai à y entrer vu qu’il y avait aussi un petit café se partageant l’espace. Au pire, je me dis si une nana au profil “lac des cygnes” m’approche d’un air indigné comme ça arrive souvent dans ce genre de magasin, je ferai semblant d’être venue pour le café. Je dois avouer que j’avais quand même beaucoup d’appréhension car bien que n’étant pas en surpoids je n’ai pas nécessairement un profil “lac des cygnes”.


Alors là, il faut que je sois honnête et avouer que la fille qui s’approcha bien qu’elle corresponde assez au profil épuré genre lac des cygnes était super gentille. En la regardant j’ai tout de suite compris que si je devais participer au prochain lac des cygnes il faudrait littéralement remplacer cygnes par éléphant. De loin, on aurait dit un ado avec du rouge à lèvres et de très longs cheveux noirs rassemblés en chignon tellement elle avait les fesses musclées et étroites. Elle m’a pris à part et m’a fait faire le tour des différents cours de ballet disponibles. Ils avaient même du ballet hip hop, je crois. J’étais de plus en plus intéressée vu que je me cherchais une activité sortant un peu de l’ordinaire. Tout se passait bien quand soudain la directrice du studio sortit de nulle part et s’installa façon buddha stoïque derrière la caisse. Elle devait avoir une antenne pour les gens “non In” tout comme je suppose un exterminateur aurait un sixième sens pour la détection de vermine. A vrai dire, je n’avais pas du tout le profil végé-bio machin-truc recherchée. Je devais probablement être entourée d’un aura carnivore.

La directrice, elle, avait plutôt le profil mère nature c’est-à-dire que tout ce qu’elle mange, touche, voit et boit doit être le plus près possible de son état naturel. Je pouvais d’ailleurs très bien l’imaginer en train de faire son propre kombucha. En portant une attention particulière au visage on pouvait déjà noter les signes d’une vieillesse timide qui s’installait tranquillement d’une manière décidée sans que la propriétaire des lieux s’en rende compte. Tout sur son être était aseptisé. A bien la regarder on avait l’impression que même ses petits bracelets en corde avaient été tirés des entrailles même de mère nature.

Je sentis au regard furtif qu’elle me lançait que mon profil ne correspondait pas nécessairement à la clientèle cible. C’était clair que j’étais un carnivore sans discipline qui buvait de temps à autre une canette de bière et du coke. Autrement dit je n’avais pas le profil tofu kombucha. C’est alors que me sentant guettée, je commis l’irréparable…j’osai m’enquérir du coût…Je pense que c’est alors qu’elle perdit tout espoir. La réponse fut rapide et nette. Elle prit tout de suite la direction des opérations avec un énigmatique ‘’Ça depend’’ tout en esquivant chacune de mes questions à propos du coût jusqu’à ce que bien sûr la fille qui m’accueillit initialement eut pitié de moi et me lança le prix d’un air gênée. En entendant le prix, le miracle tant souhaité se produisit: Je remerciai rapidement la fille et je quittai le magasin sur le champ sans demander mon reste. A leurs regards de connivence j’ai tout suite compris qu’elles venaient de se rendre compte qu’elles possédaient là une nouvelle tactique infaillible pour se débarrasser des gens “non in” osant s’aventurer en terre sacro-sainte :).

C’est clair que je dois continuer à travailler sur mon profil black swan….



Version Française…


It was in Ottawa. The husband and I went for one of those long weekends. I was super excited until I learned I had to plan all of the trip activities. Mind you, it was just for a few days but still. Yes, I could have hopped on the internet and resurfaced with a long list of activities. I just wasn’t sure I’d be able to monitor my excitement level long enough once on site for him not to realize I was as much a first-timer as he was. Besides, how do I tell him I was living under a rock when I used to live there? I should have hopped on the internet and come up with a long list of things instead of half-assing it. Instead the only things I could suggest was a walk on the Rideau canal, the Rideau Centre Shopping center and a stroll on the market place. While those activities can be romantic they are not adrenaline-inducing. It was quickly over with. When the husband mentioned museums I had to come clean and confess that I never ventured in that part of the city.

My confession was met with a stern face. Had I admit that two years ago I am quite sure he wouldn’t have proposed as fast as he did :).  My husband is always on the go, always moving, in fact when we go on vacation it is like going to a correctional boot camp. I come back even more tired than I left. Not exactly my type of vacation. I would happily go on one of those health-themed vacation where all you do is repeat mantra while drinking spirulina water.

On the last day of our trip we decided to visit the Rideau Centre mall. Unfortunately for us that day we discovered that there was a Disney store located in the same mall. Dear husband feigned complete disdain at first but I could see he was burning to check it out. Fives minutes after, he literally dropped me in the middle of a shoe store and practically ran to the said store. By the time I went looking for him (about 15 minutes later) the damage was already done.


I found him standing in a long line holding close to his heart, the way you would an only child, a mountain of Star wars action figures. I was shocked and slightly amused. Resolved to take action I planted myself firmly in front of him making full use of my 5’2. No use. His eyes were blank just like a walking dead. It was impossible to reach him. Being the good wife that I am, I resolved to wait till he finishes and drag him to Zara in the hope of convincing him to buy me a couple of blouses to calm his conscience. That plan quickly fell into the drain. The minute his toys were all paid for he seemed to experience a sudden wake up from his walking dead condition . He hurried us out of the mall as if we were wanted criminals leaving a crime scene. Bonnie and Clyde would have been proud! Next thing I know we’re driving back to Montréal.


Here is a snipped of the exchange that followed:
Hubby: ‘We are leaving’
Me: ‘What?! I am not done yet’
Hubby: ‘I need to put some distance between me and that store…’
Me: ‘Isn’t that exactly what I was trying to do just a few minutes ago and you completely ignore me.’
Hubby: ‘You don’t understand…I couldn’t hear you…’
And then seeing he is not going to win this round.

‘I blame the coffee’
Me: ‘Are you serious?’
Hubby: ‘I am not kidding! This is the first time I have had coffee in 6 weeks. It was bound to happen’.
Me: ‘Well, in this case you shouldn’t be driving because you’re clearly under the influence. And to think all this time road patrols were checking for blood alcohol level. They should have checked for blood caffeine level.’
Hubby: ‘Are you done making fun of me?’

I made fun of him the whole way back. When I shop I have a problem but when hubby goes overboard it is a small accident in the life of a very reasonable person. How convenient.

What about you dear readers, what is your vacation personality? Is it different from that of your other half? What is that one thing you spend money on like crazy?

Quand mon mari fait du shopping: 2ième partie

English Version…

La prochaine fois qu’on visitera un magasin Disney j’apporterai une croix et de l’ail. Si vous ne me croyez pas écoutez la suite…


Je me fais souvent taquiné par mon mari sous prétexte que je fais du shopping comme je respire. C’est- à-dire sans réfléchir comme un genre de réflexe involontaire. Au fait tout est bon pour justifier une séance de shopping.

Le printemps dernier, nous avons décidé de passer un long weekend à Ottawa. On voulait un peu sortir de Montréal et prendre de l’air.   Mon cher mari sachant que j’ai vécu pas mal d’années à Ottawa s’est empressé de me charger de la planification des activités. Comment lui avouer que j’étais pratiquement assise sous une roche à ramasser de la mousse à Ottawa?

Dans un premier temps j’ai pensé à aller sur internet et compiler une liste digne d’un guide touristique. Je me suis retenue juste à temps pour réaliser que ce serait quand même difficile de feindre l’air blasé d’un habitué des lieux alors que je les découvrirais avec des yeux aussi nouveaux que lui. Je me résolues donc de ne rien faire de la sorte et de juste lui faire visiter mes anciens favoris à savoir les centres d’achat (avec le recul, j’ai un peu honte), le canal Rideau ainsi que la place du marché.

Malheureusement, ces promenades bien qu’ayant un fort potentiel romantique ne sont pas des plus excitants, surtout avec un mari limite hyperactif.  Alors comme cela arrive dans les cas ou l’on flâne sans but précis on atterrit au centre Rideau. On flânait main dans la main comme des amoureux quand soudain devant nous se dressa dans toute sa splendeur funeste (et vous saurez pourquoi plus tard à la fin du récit) le fameux magasin Disney. Mon mari qui d’habitude est très raisonnable avait de la peine à cacher son excitation. Il y résista genre 2 minutes puis s’enfuya literalement en me plantant au beau milieu d’un magasin de chaussures.

Je continuai mon flânage pendant quelques minutes quand tout d’un coup mon sixième sens me souffla d’aller le rejoindre. J’arrivai juste à temps… ou pas. Mon cher mari était campée dans toute la longueur de ses 6 pieds, les bras remplis d’une montagne de figurines Star Wars lui arrivant jusqu’au menton. Choquée et amusée je courus me planter devant lui pour bien lui faire voir ma désapprobation. Peine perdue. Il avait déjà le regard fixe et vitreux d’un mort vivant. En le fixant dans les yeux je compris qu’il était déconseillé voire même dangereux de me mettre entre lui et la caisse. En plus, arrivé à la caisse, la caissière en profita pour lui parler d’autres promotions qu’il s’empressa d’ajouter a son sac déjà lourd de figurines.


Résignée je me résolus de l’attendre patiemment dans l’espoir de réussir à le convaincre de me payer quelques petites babioles chez Zara pour calmer sa conscience.

Mon plan tomba lamentablement à l’eau. Sitôt son gros sac sur l’épaule, il me fit quitter le centre d’achat littéralement en courant. On aurait dit des criminels s’enfuyant des lieux d’un crime. Bonnie et Clyde auraient été fiers de nous!

Outrée, j’attendis d’être assise dans la voiture pour lui demander des explications.

‘qu’est-ce qui vient de se passer là?’

‘Rien…on part juste un petit peu plus tôt?

‘Ne fais pas le malin avec moi, om chéri. Je me suis faite pratiquement traîner hors du magasin…’

‘Je m’excuse. J’avais peur de faire d’autres bêtises.’

‘C’est justement ce que j’essayais de faire tout à l’heure!’

‘Tu ne peux pas comprendre…’

Puis voyant mon regard sceptique.

‘Je blâme le café.’
‘Ah bon’
‘Se bourrer de café après tant de semaines de sevrage. Ce qui devait arriver arriva.’
‘Ah! Je vois…la cafféine a encore frappé. Peut-être qu’au lieu de vérifier le taux d’alcool dans le sang, la police de la route devrait plutôt commencer par vérifier le taux de cafféine…’
‘Cest ça…moque-toi de moi.’

Bien entendu, je l’ai taquiné pendant tout le chemin du retour. Ce n’est pas tous les jours qu’on a l’occasion de prendre les vertueux en flagrand délit. Surtout que mon cher mari ne rate pas une occasion de me faire la leçon sur mes soi-disants séances de shopping.

Et vous? Quel type de vacancier êtes-vous? Ça vous arrive-t-il de faire du shopping inpulsif?