November 2nd, 2007 by Jennine

Hunting is a wildly popular activity with the men in my household and tonight is Deer Hunting Eve.

Venison happens to be my favorite meat so I will gladly sacrifice the sanctity of my womanly domain for the remote chance that my freezer will be filled with steaks, burger and jerky. However,  the spilled buck scent on my living room carpet and the deafening buck call practice going on in my kitchen is a serious buzz kill for me. It makes me want to join PETA and go vegan in protest.

You must understand….I’ve spent an unreasonable amount of time listening to stories about the “mystical flight of the magic bullet” and how each hunter is going to bag a trophy buck with a symmetrical, bajillion-point antler. I’ve also spent so much time in the Gander Mountain hunting department that I was able to finish menu planning for the rest of the year while sitting on the bench outside of the gunsmith’s office. I hope I’m able to change the menu from beef stew to venison stew because then, and only then, will my suffering make sense.

As if their own manly hunter slash gatherer instinct wasn’t enough incentive, I’ve informed Darren, Kevin
and Daniel that if they, for some reason-like an untimely sneeze or a warmth-of-the-sun induced nap,
fail to get a deer this year…they will join me on my hunt for a bra for my rack.

It usually takes a good 6 week investment of time for me to find the biggest bang for my buck. And I will be bragging non-stop about last year’s great catch the entire time.

Good luck to them, I say.