proud to be

My friends all make fun of me because my parents bought a house in Canada. They call me an Eskimo, third-worlder, hockey fan, unappreciative of real bacon.

I am ok with this. I like being a bit Canadian. I am proud of my northern heritage. It makes me feel exotic, a little bit special. I drink Molson beer, to support my new homeland. I drink it conspicuously, so everyone will know I'm into imported beer. I root for a stronger Canadian dollar. I buy my maple syrup from Ontario instead of Vermont. I throw little tidbits of French into my vernacular. I brag about how I've even been to Saskatchewan, Manitoba, Alberta. I even pretend to like hockey.

I am an exotic fruit. But only a little exotic. Like an apple you've never tried before.