An Open Letter to Canada
Yours is the only country my husband will move to when the US goes full fascist — please sponsor me.
Dear Canada,
I know I shouldn’t leave the USA. It’s the coward’s way out.
I’m not even in a persecuted group unless you count people with Biden bumper stickers.
The idea of Ron DeSantis or Tucker Carlson or — gasp, the orange pustule — becoming president is keeping me up at night. I need an escape hatch.
We lived near the border with Mexico for two decades, but my husband has drawn a line in the sand: he refuses to live in a county where English is not the native language.
Little does he know that will not deter me. I know for a fact that although y’all Canadians speak funny-sounding English, technically you are an English-speaking nation.
After in-depth youtube research for three hours and talking to someone in my Mah Jongg group, I’ve determined exactly what I need to immigrate to Canada.
I need a sponsor.
Unfortunately, I just found out I need it to be a relative. So far I’m still hopeful, because maybe it can be a third cousin, once removed.
