Why Can't Everyday be Saturday? With no peace march to attend, some pals 'n I decided to check out the brunch at Reservoir before checking out the butterflies at the Botanical Gardens. The kitchen staff at Reservoir ably handled our poached eggs: they were perfectly cooked and lay on a nummy bed of fried pancetta and sweet baby asparagus. The lattes wer excellent. The four of us sat around and talked about the value and nature of forgiveness. For the record, while I don't suffer fools gladly, I'd like to think that I don't hold visceral grudges and that I do grant second chances. Granting second chances would surely be made simpler if everyone visited with the butterflies at the Montreal Botanical Gardens. My friend A and I arrived about 30 minutes before closing. Although we were told there was a bit of a lineup, we didn't mind walking through the greenhouses. This is the time of year when cactii and succulents are in bloom, so there were some pretty spectacular showings of prickly things with tufts of colour coming out everywhere. When we finally reached the butterfly greenhouse, I must admit that I got a little teary-eyed. The first thing I saw, through the fake cement porticos, was three montrously beautiful white butterflies just doing elegant butterfly things. Breathtaking. Seriously breathtaking. We spent the next hour or so watching them fly about and land in trees, examining the differences between the top and undersides of their wings, wondering how the cats would feel about a few free-flying ones in the house, comparing and contrasting the truly monstrously beautiful moths, and hoping that one would land on us. Later, a gay pal tried to fix me up with pretty much anything male that moved at Copa's. I tried to gently explain that Copa's ridiculously cheap liquor was perhaps colouring his judgement of suitable mates for me. Regardless, he kept asking "What about him? No? Well, what about him?". Bless him. It was a purr-fect day.