Here in Podunk, USA – the countdown to the deer hunting season has begun. Wanna know how I know? Because on the way to work – at nearly every house – there are orange clothes hanging out on clotheslines. They’ve been there for about a week. All by themselves. Hanging.
Those of you who hunt or know people who hunt know why this phenoma is occurring. For those of you who haven’t had that pleasure – the hunters put their clothes on the line for about a week before opening day so that their clothes smell like outside instead of the inside of a closet. Brilliant.
I also know deer hunting is coming because last night Rambo had one item on his list to get from Walmart. It was laundry detergent. Wanna know what he came home with?
Shampoo that smells like earth and dirt.
Deer urine – that promises sexual attraction of multiple deer.
Hand warmers and beef jerky.
Multiple deer licenses.
And no laundry detergent.
Right before we went to bed – I swear to God – Rambo said this – in the dumbest, whispery-est voice ever:
“Honey – there are only 3 days until I get to dress up and get up before dawn and get to my tree stand like the cavemen used to do. I’m going to get the big buck this year. Then I will take my trusty knife and gut my kill and rip its heart out with my bare hands. I will throw him on my back and lug him home and then tie a rope around his neck and linch him up – so he’s more dead. So everyone can see my prize. I cannot wait. The hunt is coming.”
He didn’t get past the first sentence before I was laughing my ass off.
I told him I’d like to give him the true version of his hunting expedition. I said:
You’ll get up at 3am to go sit in a tree in the pitch black – to fall asleep until the sun comes up when you can actually SEE what you might shoot at. PS nimrod – cavemen didn’t have tree stands. Or fancy waterproof heated shoes or gun scopes that are so accurate that no talent is involved. In fact – they didn’t have guns. Or clothes. Go out with nothing but leaves covering your weiner and a bow and arrow and come home with a deer and then I’ll be impressed.
You will shoot Bambi. You’ll be lucky if it doesn’t have spots.
You’ll gut the deer and probably gag the whole time.
You will throw the deer on the “back” of your four-wheeler and “drive” the deer home. If you really had the deer on your back and had to lug it home – you’d pass out before you went a quarter mile.
You will tie the deer up. It’s already very dead so therefore it won’t get “more dead”.
Not a single person that doesn’t have a penis will look at your “prize”.
You will tell every detail of your “hunt” to any other person with a penis. You will try to tell it to me until you realize my eyes have glazed over and I passed out from boredom about 30 seconds in.
You will repeat this “hunt” about 6 times over the next 9 days or so. Your truck will be full of blood and deer hair. You will enter my home with blood all over your clothes and try to hug and kiss me. There will be used knives in my kitchen sink followed by my screams of horror. You will be giddy as a teenager who got laid for the first time.
I will curse hunting season. You will cry that it’s over.
We’ll wait on the edge of our seats until next year.
Yah. Maybe for me – that last sentence is a bit of a stretch.
Welcome to Podunk USA, my friends. Try not to be jealous. I know it's hard. But try.