I meant to make some entries last week, actually.
Not just out of any sense of obligation, either; there were a few things that happened that made me think, ha, this is a boy-girl thing worthy of recording for posterity, but I'd have been doing it on Chet's laptop, maybe with him looking over my shoulder, and as such, I maybe wouldn't have wanted to start with "my boyfriend is a complete wuss."

To be fair, the day in question, I was the one who started out on the wussy side. It was Tuesday, probably the hottest and stickiest day of the vacation, and we were walking around the waterfront area. One of the first tourist places we hit was the clock tower. It's a very nice clock tower, but it emphasized something I'd noticed a bit the previous day when we'd visited la tour de Montreal up by Olympic Stadium - I seem to be more afraid of heights in this body than I remember being as Martin. I'm trying to figure out whether it's a hormonal thing or an experiential deal. Something to ask Telly about tomorrow; how did Michelle react to it?

I think, in part, it's just that being up high makes me think about my balance a lot more. That clock tower is 192 or so steps to the top, the last sixty or so thin metal things in a spiral not wide enough for two people to pass each other on. So even though I've had this body for two years, and I've become relatively agile, something about climbing those stairs made me think, gosh, I'm awful top-heavy; what if I topple over and break my fool neck? Silly, by now, isn't it? But there it is.

But, anyway, I put up a brave face; I don't think he noticed anything worse than it being hot. So we walked around a little more, until we found a place called Saute-Moutons, and we're thinking, hey, it's always fun to see a city from the river. And it's always cooler on the water.

So we get in line, and they hand us waivers to sign. Okay, maybe that's just a Canadian thing, right? Well, it turns out that it's because we will be taking jet-propelled boats through the Lachine rapids, and will get soaking wet. The instructions include "when a wave is washing over the ship, don't turn your head to the side because, well, your neck can only take so much". Chet and I moved forward because they wouldn't let small children in the first two rows. And somehow I get on the outside, because Chet doesn't want to get splashed as much.

Heh, not that it mattered much; 30 minutes in the rapids got us all soaking wet. I mean, saturated. Like, I kept my life jacket on, walked to the gift shop to buy a new T-shirt, then took it with me to the changing room because I'm wearing a white top and white bra. Sure, I didn't plan to get wet, and I gather they're not as uptight about nipples up there as they are here, but, hey, I should really know better by now. I suppose someone who had been a girl all her life wouldn't have gotten on the boat dressed like that.

Well, I'd write more about my vacation, and may do so later in the week, but it's getting late, and I'm sure my friends are planning a surprise party for me tomorrow (althouth the way to make it a real surprise would be to hold out a month or two).

-Marti
- posted 10:30 PM - - (archive use only)