A few weeks ago, I got snow tires for my car. A good thing, because it's been snowing here for about four days now, and we have a total accumulation of "just enough to get into your socks because you insist on wearing clogs every day, you Scandinavian freak."
So I drove around with the tires in my trunk for about a week and then decided to finally take them out before I went shopping. Because I have my priorities. So I set them on the porch, went shopping for a few hours, came home, put the tires in the basement, and then had a nice evening. Then I went downstairs to get a drink. And oh, god, the smell. It was like I'd stepped into a parallel universe where everything was a litter box.
Even though I am an animal lover and I love cats (the non-evil, non-retarded ones, that is, and yes, I have known mentally retarded cats) I immediately thought of all the things in my kitchen I could use to kill the goddamn stray cat that had sprayed all over my fucking tires.
So I had to unwrap (because the guys at the garage had considerately tied a nice little knot in each bag over each tire) every single tire and then sniff my hands in order to figure out which bag had been violated. Of course, it was the last one. Is there any way this could have ended differently, factoring in how hilarious my friends will find this? Meanwhile, I'm still angry two weeks later.
I spent the rest of the night positively livid, spraying Febreze, lighting candles, and muttering about the things I could do to that cat with a blunt object.