Feeling Poor in Forest Hill

I am younger that this Vice President. I am slimmer and better looking too. My hair is more lustrous. Oh, and I am taller ... and not so pale. He is as pale as Dracula's ass, if you ask me. And that accent made me think of Transylvania, until I was corrected. But, he is a nice guy with a beautiful house in Forest Hill, one of Toronto's wealthiest neighbourhoods, after The Bridal Path (TAFKAP's former 'hood) and Rosedale. I felt impoverished after the visit. The welcoming glass of Prosecco, the open bar, the pool, the caterers, the open bar, the kitchen, the open bar, the meticulously manicured lawn, the .... OK, I will stop listing the things I covet. Did I mention that I am younger and far more handsome?

Of course, I was under-dressed. Who could have anticipated all of those suits? I was in jeans. I did have a jacket, a vintage black suit jacket made in Fredericton, New Brunswick, of all places. Aren't all clothes now made off-shore? Are there any Canadian manufacturers of clothing left? Eventually, I slipped on the jacket, even though the temperature argued against such a move, but doing so made me feel less under-dressed, but not inconspicuous. After all, I had to decline all of the hors d'oeuvres as none seemed to be gluten-free. That must have aroused suspicion and I think the caterers began to wonder. The cold Prosecco was a good antidote to the heat, but then I had to cycle home, through Forest Hill Village, but at least it was all downhill from Forest Hill (and by that I mean the down slope of a hill, but it could equally suggest that I was on the way to an inferior or worse condition).

For the rest of this week, I will be at a conference. In fact, I am at the conference right now, doing all manner of conferency things. It looks to be a good conference, but I will be the judge of that.