C'est Quoi le Page Eh? Girl?
While conducting research on the mating habits of Wal* Mart users in Buffalo for an upcoming Royal Commission, it came as a shock to me that the only two Canadian females known outside this country are Pamela Anderson (barely qualifies as a Canuck since half of her body parts are made in the US) and Margaret Atwood our dour poetess with an IQ higher than my student loans. It occurred to me shortly thereafter that the quintessential Canadian lust-maman would be a hybrid of these two prototypes, to wit, the Page Eh? Girl. That these wonders of our gene pool have to be shown off to the rest of the world is a matter of Canadian Pride.

Leah ' T.O.' McLaren

Poor Ms. McLaren has sadly developed a bit of an anti-fan club in recent months. The Fibber was appalled at the amount of venom that has been unleashed on the net: a quick Google search of here name reveals that there appears to have emerged a veritable anti-Leah sect of sorts, with chapters as far away as the UK

Some of this animosity naturally resulted from her well known and much publicized attack on the British male and his dating habits. To this, the Fibber neither has little to add, since for one reason or another he has never actually dated one of the Queen's men, nor is there much of a chance that his mistress will let him do so in the near future. Thus, if Ms. McLaren states that you will stand a better chance to find a bordello in Utah than decent shag in the heart of the Empire, then we can assume that it is so, for it is well known that Canadians do not lie. Ever.

Others detractors point to our very own Bridget Jones with index finger outstretched, accusing her of hyper materialism, snobbery and intellectual shallowness. It is the Fibber's opinion that much of this stems not from her writing as such, but from the fact that Ms. McLaren is a bit of a stunner looks wise. Were she to resemble Hannah Arendt for example, she could keep on writing about lounging on Italian yachts whilst discussing the finer points Egyptian lace thongs ad infinitum, without arousing even a murmur of opposition.

In essence, then, it is simple jealousy that drives the call for her head. While we the plebs have to endure the harsh climate of a Canadian summer , Ms McLaren gets to bound around Europe flirting, sipping and shopping . More importantly, she gets paid to write, an activity which will invariably result in painting hoards of unemployed Hemmingways various shades of green.

In any case, those visitors who would like to learn more about the Fibber's latest induction into the hallowed halls of Canadian finest females can check out a sample of Ms. McLaren writing by visiting her paper, the Globe and Mail. Undoubtedly they will have to agree that this month's choice is a worthy addition, albeit for Ms. Leah's one and only fault, namely her attempt to shove the world into neat little categories. Still, at the Fibber we forgive these minor infractions, knowing full well that there are two types of scribes: those who dichotomize and those who don't.