I Swear On My Blue Suede Shoes, This Story Is True.

So, as I was on the subway this afternoon, I was reminded that today is the 29th anniversary of the death of Elvis Presley.

But what, pray tell, was it that refreshed my memory? I mean, what is it about my TTC train that could have sparked such knowledge?

Well, as I boarded my train at Royal York Station, an East Indian man and his wife boarded directly in front of me. It wasn’t until I was sitting across from them that I noticed something…

Right down to the gold aviator glasses and the bushy mutton chops, this man was the spitting image of The King, (with the exception of darker skin). Uh huh, with the poofy straight back, black hair, the double chin (remember, we’re talking 1970s Elvis here; not young, hot Elvis), and Hawaiian shirt. It was so close, that I couldn’t tell if he was paying homage, or just tacky.

But the icing on the cake; La pièce de résistance? His wife had straight, dark brown hair, parted perfectly down the middle with a little poof in the back. Does she fancy herself Pricilla?

It was perfect. It was all I could do not to burst out in my rendition of “Love Me Tender”.

Quick, Cute Elvis story:

My sister was 6 days old the day Elvis died. Mother was trying to feed her in the kitchen, while listening to the radio. The announcer came on with an important news bulletin: “THE KING IS DEAD!” My mom, a mild to medium Elvis fan, was certainly confused.

“The King?” she wondered. “What does he mean ‘King’? Canada is part of the commonwealth... we have no King, just Elizabeth.”

She figured it out soon enough.