October 11, 2007
My least favorite time of the year is fast approaching. Instead of monthly PMS, I have a much similar condition, known as PHS, otherwise known as Pre-Hunting-Season. It’s a condition that is limited to once per year, but it lasts for 3 weeks, and has the same symptoms as PMS.
Let me just say, I have no problem with the time my husband spends hunting. If he wants to get up before dawn to freeze his butt off, all for the glory of killing Bambi, more power to him. However, I do not need to hear about hunting, and all things related, incessantly, for two months prior and post-season.
I also do not need to be forced to peruse the sporting goods section on EVERY trip to Wal-Mart during the months surrounding hunting season. I do not understand, nor care why hunters need the latest, greatest, newfangled hunting accessory. Cavemen hunted for thousands of years, without the aid of a new camo wardrobe or deer pee, and they survived. Granted, they didn’t bathe regularly, and deer pee would’ve probably been an improvement compared to their BO, but you get the drift.
During this time of year, everything in our household must revolve around the fact that it’s that magical 2 weeks a year when my husband can legally shoot a deer. Come November 10, don’t even think about asking my husband to do anything on the weekends. For 3 Saturday and Sunday mornings in a row, this is my routine:
3:00 am: Awake to the sound of the alarm, hit snooze, jab husband in ribs.
3:09 am: Awake to the sound of the alarm, hit snooze, jab husband in ribs.
3:18 am: Awake to the sound of the alarm, turn the damn thing off, jab husband and threaten his life if he doesn’t get up.
5:00 am: Awake to husband rustling around in closet.
5:30 am: Awake to sound of husband leaving to go to field. Discover he has also woke the children. Get up and begin the day.
He comes in mid-morning. Eats breakfast, takes a nap, eats lunch, and goes back out to hunt in the early afternoon. EVERYDAY for THREE WEEKENDS. Not only does this leave no time for US, it leaves no time for an overstressed ME. Rest assured that somewhere during this time there will be a rant, by me, in which I will ask him the following questions in a rather loud voice, with tears streaming down my cheeks: “Don’t you think it’s unfair that I don’t get to have a hobby where I get to buy a whole new wardrobe and make you watch the kids for 3 weeks while I go do whatever I want? Why do I have to be the one to find a sitter if I so much as want to go to a movie alone?, and, Do you recall that for several years I had to miss out on the “Feminine Fall Fling” retreat because it was scheduled on opening weekend, and someone had to watch the kids?”
Then there’s the financial implications of hunting. I know, in the old days hunting was necessary for survival. However, in modern times, with the cost of guns, ammo, liscenses, deer processing and camo, it’s a wash-out at best. In fact, lots of years my husband doesn’t even get a deer. (I don’t even know for sure that he’s going hunting at all. He could be going to his girlfriend’s house, under the ruse of going hunting for all I know.) I’m sure if we figured it up, the few deer he’s killed has cost us several hundred dollars per pound! And you know what, it doesn’t taste that good.
Therefore, I have suggested that we start doing our “hunting” at the local Kroger. You can sneak up on a pack of hamburger meat or steak without scattering cow pee all around to mask your scent. You don’t have to have a liscense, or wear an orange hat, it can be done 364 days of the year, and it’s a hell of a lot cheaper.