Yesterday, Chris went to his mum's to borrow her car so he could get to work (snow problems...bus problems..walking impossibility). Unfortunately when he arrived, not one but two vehicles were parked across the driveway so he couldn't get out. One of said vehicles was a BIG-ASS TRUCK of the sort that many people drive in Saskatoon, obviously assuming that to be a real westerner you need some sort of gas-guzzling, lane-filling, small-car-ignoring, BIG-ASS TRUCK.
So Chris went doorknocking but nobody was in. By this time it was, y'know, time to go to work, and they ended up having to get the truck towed.
So in the evening, a knock at the door came, and it was the truck owner, wondering if they had, on the off-chance, seen a BIG-ASS TRUCK that was lately parked right across their driveway. Informed that it had been towed, the gentleman in question looked so surprised and kind of - hurt - as if it made him not angry and aggressive at the person who had his truck removed, ncessitating a $300 fine for getting it back, but just sort of saddened that his lovely truck would be stuck in the Wilderness of Towing Land and would need to be rescued.
After this, I began to feel sorry for the truck man who had looked so sad about his truck, instead of justified because he TOTALLY PARKED ACROSS SOMEONE'S DRIVEWAY in a stupid gas-guzzling pedestrian-despising BIG-ASS TRUCK and got what he deserved.
What on earth is wrong with me?
The bag handle is still coming. I'm getting there. Stitch by yanked stitch.
And it's still snowing. We're up to about, oooh, probably thirty or forty feet by now.