Monday, November 24, 2008

I Just Called to Say I Love You

In keeping with the start of Opening Week for Deer Season, I'll stick with what I don't know....(as usual!)

I'm not a seasoned hunter's wife---Well, I am the wife of a seasoned hunter, but I myself am new to the game. For three years now, I watch as the holiday season approaches, and my honey gets increasingly excited over the prospect of heading even further north than we are, simply to spend days on end freezing his butt off in the hopes of maybe catching/sighting/ hitting something other than a friend. He packs long- johns, sweat shirts, camoflauge coveralls, gloves, hats, super thick socks, guns, and some times ammo. Although the joke is- one trip you get the gun, the next you get the ammo, but never the two together!

He will sit in a tree stand after walking for miles (yep--miles-this from a man who thinks tv remote switching is an olympic sport!)-for miles he will walk in deep snow...all alone in the deep woods day after day in hopes he may even catch something other than a cold!

The first year we were together, I gave this expedition of his a lot of thought and came to a very logical conclusion! This really was not a hunting trip, per se. This was simply a long planned weekend away with the boys (which by the way was a heck of a lot easier to understand than freezing one's buns off for sport!)

Of course! They'd be drinking, and eatting out at fine restaurants, playing cards till all hours, and making up tales of the 12 pointer that got away. The dress clothes were probably packed at the bottom of that duffle bag, and I'm pretty sure at least one of those shotguns projects a simple flag that says "BANG!" when fired.

So, off he goes, my mountain man, headed in to the wilderness (Uh-huh , said I, try to stay warm, snicker, snicker!)
This left just myself at home with a house full of kids and dogs to while away the hours with. So what's a girl to do? A couple of phone calls and a quick trip to the liqour store, and we had all the makings of an afternoon party going on---after all, I wasn't the only hunting season widow in town.
Well, party animals that we were, the house was pretty much empty by nine, and I had quite the little buzz going, so I had an IDEA! I would call honey, who I'm sure by now was knee deep in scotch and poker, and say good night.
Well, I dialed the JUST FOR EMERGENCIES phone number he left on the fridge, and waited for about six rings. It's a one room bunk house, so I figured they really were deep in the beverages and couldn't find the phone. What I got on the other end of the phone was a very sleepy hunter who was quite amused that honey's new girlfriend had called hunting camp in the middle of their night's sleep. Apparently opening day begins around 3 am, and they had all been fast asleep since seven!
After a real quick hello/goodbye honey, as all his buddies poked fun and jabbed him with testosterone filled "wifey called" barbs I selpt soundly in the knowledge that those fools really did enjoy walking for miles in layers of clothing so thick you can't bend over, on the slim chance your fingers won't be too numd to actually pull a trigger should the occasion occur!
Oops, my bad.

Oh, but the NEXT night (and every hunting night since) Honey is SURE to call me before they go to bed, just to say goodnight. Ain't he sweet? Of course, should he ever forget to make that call, I could always call him around, oh say, nine thirty! Sweet dreams, baby!

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