In detail | Yves and Léa, power 4

That’s it: the Canadian does not lose anymore. While the Montreal team dominates the Winnipeg Jets in the second playoff round, Yves Boisvert and Léa Stréliski continue their match, against a blue-white-red background.

The neighbor’s baby

Lea!

Big news yesterday in my street: the neighbor Alice is going to have a baby!

She told me herself yesterday: “When I grow up, I’m going to have a baby!” ”

I hadn’t seen her coming at all. Must say that I was a little hypnotized by his shoes-that-when-you-walk-it-made-of-light.

So, at night, it lights up? I asked.

She nodded and just before going to bed, she will come and prove it to me.

A baby, do you realize? OK, she is 4 years old. But she explained to me that she would drink lots of milk for that. His brother Émile – you know, the one with the Oilers socks – rolled his eyes: “You’ll even drink more milk at 25!” Even Françoise [c’est leur grande sœur] stopped drinking milk, at 8 years old! Milk is not that you have to drink it, it’s that when you have a baby, you get it in your breasts, ”he explained to her.

And Émile adds, as if to say, think about your case: “it hurts a lot, giving birth”.

I can hear you from here, Leah, whispering “mansplaining”. I would rather speak of knowledge sharing.

Émile also confided to me that once, they were paddling in a super deep lake where you could not see the bottom, and that Françoise had bathed and she had “shouted her life” because she thought she had seen a fish bone.

Conceived.

And since you’re asking me, let’s just say Émile’s Oilers socks, we haven’t seen them too much, too much for two weeks …

“I still find them beautiful, but there are holes in them,” he explained to me.

Yeah yeah…

I must tell you that he was seen at school with a Canadiens jersey, and number 11 on the back …

Something’s going on in town, Léa. All of these victories are building Club membership. We are going to seek this generation one supporter at a time. It’s half like an ancestral tradition, half like a hereditary disease. Must be inflicted on the youngest.

Wait… what are you saying? Is your mother from Abitibi? ? Is it now that I learn this? Uh… my two parents too! La Sarre, madam.

Another time, I’ll tell you how Léonidas Boisvert took a train to find his fiancée, met my grandmother there, and never made it to her destination. How also, 60 years later, a nun who learned my father’s name told her that she had “almost been his sister”, which required some explanation.

My mother has no interest in hockey, but she will tell you with pride that Rogatien Vachon is a guy from Palmarolle (the arena bears his name), Serge Savard, a guy from Landrienne, and Lise Bissonnette, a girl from Rouyn .

“Yes, Mom, I know …”

I also have to tell you something about Wikipedia that will have to stay between us. Someone wrote “born in 1963”. Now, I was born in 1964. But I don’t really know what to do, because I haven’t yet decided what is more conceited: to write to the people of Wikipedia to get a correction, or to do nothing to pretend to be. above these unimportant things?

So… I do nothing.

What I’ll tell you, though, is that all of these victories force us to think a bit like Alice, and to see the long term. We may stretch the spring …

Do you drink milk

The Winniperdre

My husband calls them the Jets Winniperdre, Yves.

It’s not nice, but what it takes is war. I always give my husband credit when he makes better jokes than I do. Anyway, if you saw the face of my children, you would understand that he is responsible for 50% of what I create good. He doesn’t write for me, but I’m sure he could.

This is how he seduced me. With his pen. We knew each other in 3e primary year. We were in love, but we never told each other. I have an old diary that would testify to this. At the end of my 3e year, in 1991, I left Montreal for Paris, the time to miss the ONLY Stanley Cup that we were going to win in several decades, then I came back in 1995.

We never had the Cup, Casseau, Bleuet, all the hoopla again, but against all odds, Mark Zuckerberg created a patent on which, in 2007, you could see the face your primary school friends now had. My future husband subscribed, looked for me and with a name like mine, when he typed it into life’s big computer, only my card came out. “Hi Léa, I don’t know if you remember me, we danced together in 3e year and since, you are my female model. ”

I was dubious, let’s say. Single for two and a half years, I had had some soft prince at my doorstep. The kind of big fellow who shows up in shiny armor, but only one pichenotte of life and it slips away. I rolled my eyes, but still, with an air that believed in it as much as when the Canadiens started to put together a streak against the Leafs, I hopped on the ice and skated towards him.

“We had dances in 3e year? It was in music class that we walked the floor together. A square set. Tribute to Caleb’s daughters who was at its peak? I don’t know, but our little bodies had swarmed two by two, which, in a classroom where the trenches between boys and girls were well demarcated, was unthinkable.

I told this story during my speech of marriage. I think the bride usually doesn’t give a speech, a tradition that dates back to when we were traded for two terracotta pots and a camel, but I took the microphone. I told everyone how that day, in music, I almost didn’t choose it. Not because I didn’t like it, but because the teacher had asked me to go first! It was I, Yves, who had the choice between all the boys in the class.

So, of course, you can guess it, the rider I would elect would inevitably reveal to all my comrades my favorite boy! I couldn’t, Yves, it was too much for me. So, when I was 8 years old, I had worked out a clever ploy. I was going to select a boy who I’m sure no one would think he was my kick. The one who chews his erasers and spits them out in his pencil holder. My secret would be safe! But come to think of it, according to this strategy, I would be depriving myself of my only chance to dance with my favorite.

So I said his name. I dared. And we danced. And we laughed. We remembered this story when we got together as adults and I shared it before we hit the dance floor again, but this time at our wedding. Are we going to win the Cup? I don’t know, but there are children’s dreams that come true, Yves. I am living proof.

P.-S. : Speaking of kids, do you think this is the time Caufield marks with his chubby hands or what?

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