“That Time I…” posts are true stories that am I retiring from my social repertoire. To honour them, I am committing them to text for the first time. Read stories about sound torture, my awesome tattoo, and the infamous Tragic Hand Button.
As I drove down a forested back road, I kept an eye out for moose lurking near the treeline. John promised that he was not exaggerating. He said that a moose is a mountain on legs and there were many of them in northern New Brunswick. If my car collided with one, the mountain would crush me to death and then get up and walk away. So yes, I was being diligent but the local wildlife was not the concern foremost on my mind. I was really worried about meeting John’s mother.