The Story of Saint Aardvark the Carpeted

He’s tall and neat
well, taller than me
and he only takes four point five
seconds to pee.
I used to sit in pubs and when
he went to the loo I’d grab my pen
I’d barely have time to scribble a note –
the bastard would be back again!

He didn’t want kids but I changed his mind
using cunning, logic, and turpentine
– don’t ask don’t tell, that’s what I say –
now that they’re here, he loves them way -oh- way
more than a lot of people love their kids
he distracts them when they get the fits
he reads them stories for hours on end
he’s a fabulous father, my best friend.

He gets to ride the bus every day
and he listens to podcasts on his way.
He makes computers run like stink,
he also makes beer that we can drink
which is handy because we can’t afford to buy it
given my habit of bonbons and Hyatts.

Thirty-nine years ago he was born,
grew up and traveled West. I’d sworn
never to marry or even to date
boys from Ontario, with their toque-covered pates.
It took a while, but he changed my mind
using cunning, logic and turpentine.

I’ve been staring at his face for sixteen years;
his glasses, his nose, his variations on beards,
his face is pretty cool but his brain is the best, I mean
he’s got stuff crammed in there I’ve *still* not seen.

A geek who speaks
English, a very rare breed
(though not on his blog, but you might have a read)
A man of integrity, who drinks coffee
with speed
He’s wonderful, marvelous, splendid and true,
Happy birthday Saint Aardvark! I sure do love you!

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