“Why are all you male firefighters so tall and hunky?” my male colleague asks.
“Uh,” he smiles. “I think that’s perhaps a question for PR,” the cute firefighter quips back. So he’s good-looking and funny.
And do I detect a French-Canadian accent? It’s too good to be true…
And so it is. Forty minutes into his demonstration I realize he doesn’t have an accent at all – at least he shouldn’t to me: he is speaking pure Saskatchewanian.
He’s born and bred in Regina, but he sounds like a farmer, or someone who grew up in a small town. A quick perusal of his Facebook page tells me he’s spent more time at the Craven Country Jamboree than at any university.
“Whatever you do, don’t let me go out with this guy,” I say to my co-worker.
“As if you could be stopped,” she says sardonically.
I grin. Besides what are the chances we’ll meet again anyway?
Plus, I’ve already dated this guy, I joke: the strong, beautiful knight in shining armor who’s never had an original thought in his life – if he asks me out I’m going to say, sorry, but I’m looking for a husband.
To be continued…