I was talking to Ian about my desperate longing to have a Prime Minister who’s not Stephen Harper. “Maybe I could start praying,” I said.

“I’m pretty sure he’d still be on their side,” Ian told me. Good point*, I guess.

I will probably still, occasionally look skyward and clutch my hands together and whisper, “please, please, PLEEEEEEEEEASE,” tomorrow – but that’s not real praying.

* If we’re talking about the white-robed, cloud-riding patriarch who loves white guys and fetuses, hates women’s lib, and enjoys long walks on the beach and wrathful smitings, that is.