The Resident Fan Boy has slept all the way in to 7:45 am, two hours later than his weekend rising time. Now he's ensconced in the bathroom for his morning ritual, which, as befits a Virgo, is meticulous and time-consuming.
I peer near-sightedly down the stairs and there, at the foot, is the Accent Snob lying on the mat by the door, meaning his need is urgent.
I know the RFB won't be available for at least half an hour, so I slip on a black long sleeve teeshirt under a fleece jacket that I leave open, its zipper having lost its zip years ago. Shoes over bare feet, no contact lenses because they're in the occupied bathroom, glasses on my makeup-less face.
No matter - I'm over forty, and thus have been invisible for years.
The streets of New Edinburgh, on a weekend morning before 9 am, belong to joggers, dog-walkers, and taxi-cabs -- and very few representatives of these categories.
I head out towards the Rideau River and note a young woman in a parka and wellies supervising her tiny leash-less terrier. I don't feel particularly cold myself, but nearer the river, my hands sting a little. Nearly all the dogs we see on the riverbank are off-leash. Not strictly legal, but an off-leash dog is a badge of honour in this neighbourhood, a sign of the owner's skill as a trainer, I guess. The Accent Snob is never off-leash, but apparently I get points for his being a "rescue dog" - he stands out amongst the mostly pure breeds we pass. The most common question: "What is he?"
By the time we loop back through the nearly deserted streets, we're starting to encounter the occasional walker - whose lycra leggings that stop just past the knees declare that this is serious business and no simple stroll.
The later hour also brings out the first of the skateboarders - both of the day and of the season. Remarkably, the Accent Snob does not flee nor even flinch as he would have in bygone days. Is he acclimatized or merely deafer?
Both terms could apply to me.