From One Flake to Another: My Birthday Present to Mr. Lady

Scientists say no two snowflakes are alike.

But can the same be said for two women blogging flakes? This question was put to the test last July in San Francisco when I was suddenly confronted by a rabid, slightly intoxicated blonde who claimed to be my doppelganger.

It took me a second to understand what the hell she was saying because I may have been a.) slightly inebriated myself and b.) mesmerized by this woman’s boobs which were hanging out for everyone to ogle. Clearly, doppelganger or not, this woman and I were meant to be friends.

That boozy booby woman turned out to be Shannon. The infamous Mr. Lady, and now an awesome friend if only because she routinely likes to call and breathe heavy in my ear.

While on the surface Shannon and I may seem similar I assure you, we are as different as a cloudy night to a starry night. I’m here to prove this and at long last clarify just how startlingly similar er, different the two of us really are.

Sure to the casual observer her and I may seem the same. I mean we both have pierced noses and blondehair. We both have tattoos.


Mr. Lady's family tree in gibberish

But unlike Mr. Lady, my tattoos are classy. I'm no garden variety Redneck, yo. I'm the klassee kind.


See? Klassee. Want some boxed wine with that, y'all?

It's not just our tattoos and number of body piercings that set us apart physically. Have you ever met Shannon? The woman resembles a vertically challenged leprechaun while I can almost touch the stars with my bare hands. It's tough talking to a woman who is just tall enough to bury her head in my bosom. I'm always worried she is looking up my nose and counting my boogers.

Then there is the way we dress. I routinely walk around topless with cowboy boots and Mr. Lady has been known to be seen in pink spandex biker shorts with a lime green tube top. This wouldn't be so bad if she didn't insist on wearing grannie panties up to her chin.

To each their own. Who am I to judge? She swears it keeps the beaver fever at bay. I'll take her word for it.

Some may confuse the two of us because we have posted pictures of our naked selves online. To those people, I say "OPEN YOUR DAMN EYES!"




Cuter. (Or so my husband tells me.)

While clearly neither of us have any shame, only one of us is infatuated with Crocs. Ugg.

Moving on. Sorry Google pervs. That's as much nudity as this post contains. Come back next week. I hear Shannon just got a new pair of shoes.

Our lack of shame and love of nudity brought with it children. Mr. Lady and I both have daughters. But if our daughters are reflections on who we are, then it is OBVIOUS we are very different people.


Mr. Lady's sweet and adorable daughter.


The fruit of my looms. She is charming. I swear.

There are other more subtle differences between Mr. Lady and myself. She is an American living on Canadian soil, while I am 100 percent, born and bred pure Canuck. I know what it means when someone offers me poutine, a beaver tail, and a shot of screech along with a serviette. Shannon has to bust out the ole Yank to Canadian dictionary or call me.

Of course, I routinely wear a toque so that explains a lot.

Since I'm outing all of our differences, I feel it is only fair to out a little known fact about Shannon. Did you all know she is obsessed with a certain body part? It's no secret to those who know me that I too have a fondness for a specific region of the human body, but let's just say Shannon and I see beauty in the human body in an entirely different way.


Ya. Shannon has a foot fetish. Specifically toes. To each their own.


I myself, prefer a firm er..cutlet.

Of course there are other differences. We both may have married hot blonde men but our husbands couldn't be any more different. The Donor is a walking advertisement for GQ magazine. My husband? He's a walking advertisement for um, John Deere tractor.

Mr. Lady lives in the suburbs and spends her evenings with a cup of tea in one hand and a pair of binoculars in the other. You can often find her at her bedroom window trying to peer into her neighbours homes.

I live out in the middle of the wilderness, with nothing but a few moose and the odd bear to keep me company. You'll find me tossing back a brewsky and cleaning mah rifle at night. The rifle helps keep them pesky coyotes away.

There is one more difference between Shannon and myself that I think you should all know about.

Shannon is older than me. And aging fast. Sure she spends half of her family's income on miracle anti-aging creams, but she can't escape her genetics. We all know what she is going to look like when she hits old age.


Black leather. Brings out her inner beauty.

Don't feel bad my friend. Not everyone is destined to look like I will when I finally catch up to you in age.


It's the Canadian beer. It keeps a body young.

So Shannon, while we may appear to be one another's doppelganger, I hope this post taught you something. (Besides the fact you should be more careful about who you let have access to your blog.)

It is true. Every flake is different.

Happy Birthday today, my sweet, aging pretend Canadian friend. I'm so glad I found you.

Not just because you make me look good either.