The Crossdresser’s Guide To Marital Bliss — Part 6.

Part 6.

Ali, my gardener, is a Syrian refugee. He arrived in Canada a few years ago after fleeing Syria with his wife and two little girls.

After being in the country a week, he found himself on a bus travelling to northern Alberta, with over a hundred other Syrians who went up to Fort McMurray to help fight the forest fires that had encroach on the town and were burning it to the ground. A group of Syrian refugees had seen that the forest fires were devasting the area and volunteered to go and help the country that had offered them a home.

Like all refugees he had a story. In his case he was a professor at Damascus University and taught Botany. It would be hard to find a more educated gardener. He also speaks excellent English when he chooses to, but doesn’t allow this to stand in the way of his random comments about my neighbours garden.

“Marjory’s chlamydia is out early this year,” he might quip. “The vulvodynia is coming along nicely!”

Currently he is on his hands and knees head to the flower bed pointing east. He’s either praying or carrying out the jihad he’s declared on the weeds in the garden.

I like Ali very much. He is wise beyond his years, and I often listen to his advice. He is something of a fundamentalist, in a…