We’ve used the phrase “pull up a mink” several times recently. Why? Because the COVID-19 zombie mink culls brought it to our mind(s) and put it into our sentences. And also because we have a history of pulling up a mink, which, let us explain:
Longtime friend of the blog Calimaria had a townhouse near Casa Raincoaster. While she was able to enjoy a lovely garden apartment, she was not always able to keep the heat on in said apartment, an all-too-common occurence in Vancouver, with its overpriced housing market. I myself couldn’t keep the electricity on for four years.
Calimaria enjoyed a good cocktail as much as the next blogger (ie this one) and we used to get together on Fridays. I would bring over a pitcher of Manhattans (2:1 with lots of bitters) and as I entered she would say, “Pull up a mink!” and we would sit and chat for hours.
She had inherited a brown mink coat from her mother, and I had sold her (during a brief period of prosperity) my own mother’s blonde herringbone mink. So we would use the coats as lap rugs and enjoy a lovely visit. Yes, we talked about you.