We Have Descended to *That* Level

When I met my husband, I had lived in Vancouver for nearly two years enjoying the cultural avenues available to me.

I was a season ticket holder for and patron of multiple theatre organizations.

I attended the Opera.

I visited the Museum and various art gallery showings.

I drank red wine from expensive stemware, munching on canapes while discussing global politics.

I could quote Shakespeare, and watched it performed in the park.

Then I got married.

...

This past weekend, my husband took my son to Monster Trucks.

There are no words to describe my dismay, knowing that my son is starting his life exposed to the cultural equivalent of a smelly armpit.

In all fairness to David, it was our neighbour BB who bought the tickets and issued this missive in his invitation: "Please have the boys wear appropriate white trash attire...ripped jeans, beer shirts, wife beaters, bad baseball hats with those aeration holes, 6 pack of Old Milwaukee...etc..."

So, three dads from the 'hood, with their three impressionable sons, hit the show.

First, Nate was loaded up on (undoubtedly mercury-laden HFCS-fueled) ice cream bars:



Which resulted in this crazy behaviour:



The show consisted of family-friendly, fire-consuming tricks:



and safe automobile maneuvers:



After seeing this, Nate's dying to do some doughnuts too:




Here's the man (BB) I hold responsible for it all: