Because after great deliberation fueled by kegs of Labatts and pallets of jelly doughnuts, with debates both in French and English raging into the wee hours of the morn, Canada has finally decided to grant me a passport!
Someone fetch the smelling salts, I just swooned off my chandelier.
My previous attempt to venture beyond these great United States was foiled by my submission of a photograph that was, apparently, too happy. Me, the morose Tollipop girl who wanders around all day long looking lost...too happy?! Franchement, Canada, you should know me better than that.
I suppose border crossing guards would rather contemplate pictures of people who stare into the camera like zombies, like deer caught in the headlights, like someone guiltily trying to conceal the fact she is smuggling tiny turtles in her luggage.
Because I think my new photograph resembles all of the above. And yes, if I ever find a tiny turtle, I will try to smuggle it.
But I am prepared to let bygones be bygones. Canada, I adore you all over again and guess what?! Now I can come see you! Now I can mush a pack of dogs across your frozen tundras. And Argentina, let's pencil in a rendez-vous! You too, Pondicherry. And of course you, Narnia...how could I forget? You are always at the top of my list.