Life: so hard

Friday morning, I am shoveling out our driveway. Several nighttime passes by the plow have created a metre-high ridge at that extends about three metres from the road. It is wet. It is heavy. I am ill tempered.

Henry: (nibbling, yet again, at the snow stuck to his mitt) I want to sled.

Me: Great. The sleds are in the garage.

Henry: I can't open the door with my mitts on. Will you get them?

Me: Why don't you take a mitt off?

Henry: (scoff) Do I have to do everything around here?

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