What a terrible night.
The subway was not running between Bloor and Lawrence; I had a beautiful pup at home who needed walks and noms so I did what any self respecting dog lady would do – I started walking home. From Bloor. To Eglinton. Ugh.
Just past Rosedale I was getting into the spirit of the walk, looking at the shops and restaurants I never usually pass by, enjoying the crisp winter air when I was attacked.
I was distracted by this great looking restaurant called ‘Avant gout’ (which makes me picture King Henry with a giant turkey leg and platters of delicious meats and breads and pitchers of wine) when I felt a horrible pain in my leg. I had walked right into a horizontal pole sticking out onto the sidewalk. It was one of those parking lot gate arms. It ripped my pants (one of only two pairs I have for work!) and took a huge gouge out of my leg. It’s very bloody and impressive.
It made me realize how Canadian I am though. When I walked into the bar I gave a vehement ‘FUCK’ then immediately apologized. I don’t know who I was saying sorry to – the pole? Any passersby who may have been scandalized by my language? Who knows. But only Canadians will get stepped on, bumped, pushed or prodded and apologize to the one who did it. Yay (?) us!
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