So it'd be Montreal, or Moncton, or even Quebec, but Toronto is hardly likely.
I was asked to come for a second interview this morning, which I thought was good news, until I was greeted with a "How do you feel about Quebec"? "Not good!", was the reply that burned my lips, but I opted for a more diplomatic "It's... not a possibility I would contemplate outside of heavy drug usage?", which she seemed to get. Once that was clear, I said that Moncton being the lovely city that they depicted was all very good, but it sounded like a single girl would feel like Sigourney Weaver fighting an army of aliens out there. (Don't worry. You might not know what I'm talking about and fear that I'm losing my mind, which is a distinct possibility in its own right, but I know what I mean.) Which leaves Montreal, and, if miracles keep happening (see that title), Toronto.
Apparently, she really wants me, which is nice of her, I think, but I'll believe it when a Diet-Coke-commercial-lookalike worker lays (no pun) the first brick of that golden bridge I'm dreaming of. And that's not going to happen for the next ten days at least. If you're looking for me in the meantime, I shall be at the bar.