Julie Couillard Appreciation Day

Mr. David Eddie’s take in the Globe and Mail is exactly right (hat tip to Mr. McLeod of Gen X at 40 for pointing it out):

Julie CouillardHeadline: “He ‘destroyed my life,’ girlfriend says.”

Then she returned the favour.

So many questions remain unanswered in the wake of the Profumo-like scandal that brought down former cabinet minister Maxime “Mad Max” Bernier this week:

What was he doing in Julie Couillard’s house so long after they had broken up? Why did he leave sensitive documents there? Then, when he realized they were missing, why didn’t he ask for them back? Why did she take so long to say she had them?

…If you ask me, he did it to himself. He set the trap, carefully arranged the sticks and leaves over the pit, then stepped on it and fell in. If ever a man was “hoist by his own petard,” it was Mr. Bernier (with Ms. Couillard the petard).

As Mr. Eddie says, former Minister Bernier impressed upon Mme. Couillard the fact that this was a year-long engagement, effective even in the event of the end of the relationship.  And as it turned out, the relationship did end just before Christmas, although the two continued to appear together in public long after.

So she held up her end of the bargain, and when she started getting press attention due to ties with dead bikers, M. Bernier stopped taking her calls and hung her out to dry.  Smooth.

She’s no angel, to be sure, but I have a certain amount of respect for those able to turn the tables so handily and administer the coup de grâce with skill and verve.

More than a decade ago, I had dated a young woman for some time.  A blonde bombshell with brains to match.  Ultimately, we were unsuited to each other and after a few weeks of interminable arguments, things ended less than amicably.  Like M. Bernier, I had inadvertently left some personal effects and (non-classified) documents behind.  I arranged to pick them up from her residence, with a friend in tow.

She answered the door and we made some quite civil small talk, then my friend and I collected my gear and went to leave.  She stopped me unexpectedly as I stepped outside, then pulled me close for a long, lingering, passion-charged kiss.  I could practically feel electricity crackling around me.  In that instant I regretted the split a thousand times more than I already had.  I wanted to beg for reconciliation, although all pride and logic railed against it.

Then with a simple “Goodbye, Chris,” she went inside and closed the door.

My friend gave me a look, and said “That wasn’t the kiss of someone who wanted to say goodbye.”

“Oh, but it was,” I replied.  “She just wanted to make sure it hurt.”

And on that note, I salute Mme. Couillard and her shivving abilities.  Well played.

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4 Responses
  1. Alan says:

    Indeed, one imagines that we could set up some kind of fan club as to the steeliness of her character but I would fear that it might be misconstrued as being focused on other atributes.

  2. Chris Taylor says:

    She is unquestionably easy on the eyes, but I am most impressed by the ability to attend tedious official functions while still pretending to be a couple. It is the “don’t disgrace the Regiment” principle and too few practice it these days.
    My mom used to invoke a similar rule when I was a kid. We might have fought like cats and dogs moments before, but the very second you were out in public it was all smiles and pleasantries in public and for guests. After they left you were free to scrap like junkyard dogs again.
    These days one is supposed to be authentic in their emotional fireworks, which is why we get treated to the spectacle of parents and kids alike losing their shit while shopping for groceries.

  3. Ghislain Tremblay says:

    We in Québec when we make ” Gidoune we make them in quality, ex: Julie and not forget the champ Myriam Bédard. This will be unheard in the ROC, too puritan,. yes yes!!
    I wonder what was the title of Jule in the Angels clubhouse? Sweetie , Mama or Oldlady? Just curious!
    Her boobies must have a very popular idemm!The queen of t he clubhouse?
    A model Zezabel!

  4. Chris Taylor says:

    I confess that the inevitable biker clubhouse nicknames did not ever occur to me. I am guessing they did not restrict themselves to something fit for printing on a blog.