You heard me right.
Oh Fuddle Duddle! Of course, you may remember that phrase as the cutesy "cover-up" reply that P.E.T. made up, many a year ago now, when asked by reporters if he'd dropped an F-bomb in Parliament.
I was a kid when it happened, but remember the fuddle-duddle episode with amazing clarity. It was the talk of the town, that's for sure. Of the country, in fact.
Trudeau was like that, a PM who hogged the spotlight with charming audacity. I was reminded of his charm when Anthony and I visited Doris a couple of days ago.
When she answered our knock, she didn't recognize her son, but claimed she knew me instantly. Slowly, it dawned on her who Anthony was.
We came in and Anthony started sorting through the piles of paper and junk, hoping to find some T-slips, as he'll have to somehow prepare Doris' tax return for her again this year. This awful task is becoming more and more difficult with every passing year, as Doris becomes less and less of this world. She throws out or loses important documents, but saves things like...well, like the ancient Christmas card from the former Prime Minister of Canada that Anthony found amid the detritus sliding off every table-top in her house.
Amused, he handed it to me. I stared at the picture of a youthful man, the signature red rose adorning his lapel, and at his side, an extremely youthful Margaret, smiling up at her hubby, while baby Justin giggled in their arms.
It took me right back.
Me: " Wow. You have an old card from Pierre Trudeau. They look so young."
Doris: "Oh my yes. How old is Margaret now?
We reminisced for a few minutes about the continuing life and times of Margaret and her surviving offspring.
Doris: "(of Pierre Trudeau) He was such a nice man. He'd always come right in and say hello. Just like one of the regular workers."
Anthony and I froze. I saw my husband's eyebrows inch up.
Anthony: "Pierre Trudeau. He'd come right in? When did you meet him?"
Doris: "Oh, many times. He never walked past the house that he didn't come right in and say hello."
This is exactly what my ex-husband does, apparently, as well.
And what Barack Obama did, apparently, just the other day.
Anthony and I gathered up our coats and gloves and hats, and took our leave. We smiled at each other, and drove home. What else can you do when your mother-in-law is convinced that prime ministers, US presidents and other, sundry divorced guys are in the habit of dropping in to her falling-down Kookytown house, just for a quick visit and maybe a cup of tea?
Smile about it, that's all.