So my Dad calls me up and asks,

"Hey I need to put some padding around this walker. Is there anything you need from home?"

"Well, I'm coming home in two weeks... Mom just brought me a bunch of stuff, and you can't really pad a walker with a sewing machine so..."

"Okay. I'll figure something out."

Figure something out did he EVER. Last week I got the call from the Greyhound telling me the package was ready for pick up. I drove downtown, loaded the massive box into my car, and drove back home. I was too lazy to take it out, so I just left it in the trunk. 

Later that evening, I hopped back in the car to head to work when my nostrils were assaulted by a strange smell. The entire car smelled like cheese. And not even a good kind, like herbed havarti. BAD cheese. I thought maybe I'd left a snack behind, but then remembered that I had just emptied the car garbage. Then I saw the box in my rearview mirror. 

I quickly pulled the box out onto the lawn and sliced it open.

My dear ingenuitive father had filled it to the brim with old milk jugs. See, in Saskatchewan, you don't get any money for recycling them, but in Alberta you do. He thought he'd do me a solid and send them to me so I could have some extra cash.

Bless his heart. 

96 milk jugs later I made a solid $24. 

I bought air fresheners for the car.