Yep, that's me.
The hunting widow.
What's a hunting widow, you ask...?
Personally, I like the definition found on Urban Dictionary:
OK. Maybe I'm not that pathetic, but I think this time of year -- also known 'round these parts as "hunting season" is definitely my least favorite time of year.
It is also a very good reminder of why I will NEVER. EVER. choose to be a single parent.
I don't like having to do ALL the chores by myself.
I don't like not having another person (that's not a toddler) to talk to at the end of the day.
I don't like never having a "break" (aside from bedtime).
And speaking of bedtime .... I especially don't like not having the built-in foot heater lying next to me in bed every night.
And wearing socks in bed just bugs me.
My feet are tired of being cold, dang it!
But meanwhile, my husband (aka: The Great White Hunter), is off in the northeast Oregon wilderness, thinking he's going to shoot one of these ...
But if you're a "Bambi" fan like I am, here's the good news .... in the years since my husband and his brothers have been going on this "elk hunting" trip, I have yet to see an elk be harmed in the process.
As a matter of fact, I no longer even refer to this trip as a hunting trip, but rather a camping trip -- or maybe even more appropriate -- an eating/drinking trip.
The reality is they 1) eat like kings for eight days straight, 2) drink ridiculous amounts of beer, 3) traipse around in the woods, 4) play in the snow .... and then come home, vowing to "get 'em next year".
Sure you will, honey.
Now, hurry up and come home! My (ice-cold) feet can't take much more of this....
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