Double-doubles, expert navigation and "French money"

Finished fun-filled family roadtrip to Mt. Tremblant and Montreal (alliteration, ho!), where I learned to savour double-doubles (double cream, double sugar) and give directions to my brother without alarming my parents:

me: "Stay on 20 until exit 43"
dad: "43? There's no Highway 43!"
mom: "Keep going straight! Straight!"
me: "I know. I said exit 43."
mom: "Aiyah! What exit did we just pass?"
me: "We're not going to miss the exit, mom."
mom: "We're going to miss the exit!"
homing: "Calm down, mom! Geez!"
dad: "Don't speak to your mother like that!"
me: "RRRRR!"

And so on. For the three hours to Kingston, three hours to Tremblant and three hours to Montreal. And then back again. I'm surprised Homing's veins didn't burst. Had fantastic dinners at Tremblant (Auberge la Porte Rouge, Village Mont Tremblant), did some shopping in the town and realized that eleven years of French classes failed to drum any knowledge of the language into my head at all. Well, not really; can still understand quite well, but speaking is out of the question.

At the Biodome in Montreal (at the Olympic Park), we ended up sitting next to a very loud, very old, very annoyed group of Americans. One, an elderly man, was especially upset over the amount of small change he received from the cashier:

"Look at all these coins! Now I have to go get more French money! We still have three days here and I have no more French money left!"

I guess he didn't notice the word "CANADA" written all over his French money, nor the Canadian flag out front.