Would you ask a vampire for a cup of sugar?

Kellie Leitch has been getting her ass kicked around the media in Toronto lately and deservedly so. The Witch-Queen-of-Creemore talked to Toronto Life about how the 6ix isn’t like the place she grew up. She “would never go next door and ask my neighbour for a cup of sugar.”

I had grown up in a place where if I was coming home from school and my mom wasn’t home, I just walked down a door or two and I had a place where I could go inside and watch TV and play with my friends until my mom got home.

To be fair, Kellie was talking about how she was thrust into Toronto as a student, without warning or clue, and how her university had the same population as her home town. It’s not like she’s the first, but for some reason she persists in characterizing the city based on her experiences as a naive and ignorant teenager.

I was a naive and ignorant teenager when I moved to Toronto. About the same time as Lady Leitch did. Not quite finished my degree at U of W. Not quite ready to join the permanent workforce. Naturally, I settled into a little apartment at Jarvis and Bloor. SkyPro Apartments. Clean, relatively cheap, close to clubs (how could you not love Cougar night at The Copa?), parquet floor. Parking included.

Hip and happening digs for a young lad of nineteen years in the late 80s. Did I mention that my neighbour was a vampire?

Well, I think he was a vampire. He called himself Vlad. He wore a long black cape and high white collars with red neck bands. I never had reason to doubt him. I took him at his word. So would you.

Vlad was a vampire. And he was my neighbour.

I never needed to ask him to borrow a cup of sugar. I never needed to ask him if I could hang out at his place and watch TV while I waited for my mother to come home.

Doesn’t mean he wouldn’t have said yes.

But there was no fucking way I was ever going to ask Vlad for anything.

Because VAMPIRE!

I would happily have given him a cup of sugar, even perhaps a cup of blood, but I wasn’t asking him for anything.

Not his fault. Not Toronto’s fault. Totally my fucking fault.

It wasn’t a reflection on Vlad, on vampires, or on the fine City of Toronto.

I was afraid. Of vampires.

Kellie Leitch is afraid. Of everybody.

All of my neighbours are good and generous people. None of us have ever been so petty or frightened to think anything of asking to borrow something so trivial as a cup of sugar.

Kellie Leitch is a cowardly twat.

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