Flouting the Floutist

My mind wandering ever so waveringly, I came in from the cold, drizzling rain with two smelly shepherd-looking dogs in tow. It was to be my second stroll along the cobbled streets in less than three quarters an hour. The kids in the neighbouring suite strummed guitars, sang sweetly, and flouted flutes and I was feeling a not-so-strong pull to sit-in on their little jam; couldn't muster the nerve this so far booze-less night- freshly baked, nerves shot. I decided to just spend the night in sipping coffee, writing nonsense into my computer, and passively warming up food in my toaster oven.

Since I'd last endured the ridiculously sexist hierarchy of a hen-pecking order within the corporate office I'd worked in for a big power company downtown, it had been fully four years - seemed about all that that gaggle of giggling granola munching grandmas ever wanted to do was just to pigeon-hole me - make me sweat. I made a point of never showing up less than five minutes late and I struggled greatly with my wardrobe for the daily fashion show on the streets and corridors of “Cubicleville.” All I cared about in those days was drinking, playing guitar, and getting drunk. Not much has changed since then, really, except that I probably can drink more before becoming drunk.

At least there was a top-notch Japanese lunch-joint a block away on Jasper Ave where one could grab a few slices of sashimi and a sushi roll or two. As a cook and food fanatic, I've known immense pleasure from sampling the many unique and distinctive tastes of just about anything that grows under the sun in both the plant and animal kingdoms. Let it be known, however, that never again will I ever eat octopus. Since seeing a documentary showcasing this animal's problem-solving ability outside from its natural habitat, I developed a new-found respect for these most bizarre, tentacled creatures. I once had a very satisfying soup made from the deep sea dweller, and it was good, but I can no longer in good conscious order such a thing ever again. Funny, eh? I've no problem with sacrificing a cow, a chicken, or a fish to fill my tummy, but octopus – well that's just cruel. Save the octopus!