Bienvenue à ma cauchemar

Southwestern Arizona is one of the natural habitats of the Canadian Snowbird. Most of them are from British Columbia and Alberta. A few from Saskatchewan. I have yet to see someone from Manitoba. I guess they go elsewhere. Texas, maybe. Or Nebraska, which is downright balmy compared to Winnipeg.

Eastern Canadians tend to go to Florida. I used to see slush stained vehicles bearing Ontario and Quebec plates migrating through North Carolina when I lived there.

So I was a little surprised to see a pickup with Quebec plates ahead of me in Yuma. Driving very slowly. Like twenty miles per hour under the speed limit. Perhaps he was stunned by warm weather in the middle of hockey season.

Whatever the reason, I was growing impatient. I am American, after all. I dredged up my junior high French. Because, being American, I think everyone in Quebec speaks only French. 

“Allons-y!... Allez!... Plus vite, s'il vous plaît!... Où est Pierre? Il est à la bibliothèque!”

If I’d had a better command of the language, I would have shouted that the speed limit was in miles per hour, not kilometers per hour. And if I’d been familiar with Québécois idioms, I might have also impugned his manhood.

But my destination came and I survived the horrible ordeal without starting an international incident. Ce qui est pour le déjeuner?