Apparently this is deer season. Or it’s deer season in some states but not others. Or maybe it just ended. Since I’m not really inclined to shoot things, my knowledge of the hunting calendar is lacking. But recently, in one of those relationship moments where you look at your bedmate and think, “How the bloody hell did I not know that about you?” I learned that eCrush owns guns. Plural. Also, as part of his quest to out-Republican the Republicans (and maybe partially to prove his manliness despite his love of madras), he hunts.
My knowledge of eCrush’s second-amendment-loving, Bambi-killing nature came about rather abruptly. It was the holidays, he went to visit family, and I thought that meant carb-overloading, consumption of box wine, and a turkey coma. You know, like it does for most Americans. My happy illusion ended when I called him to check in.
eCrush: Can’t talk now. There is a doe in my sight line.
eCrush: I am engaging in deer population control. This is a good thing.
Me: You are hunting? Since when do you hunt? AND you brought your iPhone into that hut tree house thing?
eCrush: It’s called a tree stand.
Me: The point is, tree stand, orange camo, IPHONE. Which one of these things doesn’t belong? Besides the obvious: YOU!
I spent hours debating my willingness to date somebody who hunts. And owns a Scent Control Parka. But ultimately, I decided I shouldn’t end a good thing when hunting ranks darn low on my General Problems With Republicans List. Also, eCrush and I are both from central Ohio. Lots of people hunt there. The appreciation of the sport is so widespread it crosses socio-economic lines and conquers political affiliation. I know women who hunt and I’ve got friends who own land specifically so they can go shoot things on it. They also have ginoramus smoker contraptions to better dry out their deer meat. And in law school, half the guys went missing each year during bow season. Those that remained were either gay or from out of state. Hell, even my dad has a BB pistol to better battle the squirrels. All that being said, I’ve become pretty acclimated to the Scary Killer Sportsman concept. I just don’t like it.
Despite my repeated aversion to stalking innocent animals and then shooting them dead, eCrush is determined that I try it. He is adamant that I’d make a great huntress. Like the DC version of Artemis. I contend that nothing about me says I Love To Spend Time In Nature, let alone Bambi Sniper. Also, with my long and sordid history of klutz behavior, I’m sure I’d pull a Cheney and then we’d be the lead story on Fox News. I can just see Shepard Smith all, “…and in a shocking story of love gone horribly wrong, a liberal DC Attorney shot her prominent Republican boyfriend in the ass yesterday. Her camp claims it was simply a hunting accident, but our anonymous White House sources suggest otherwise. For more, let’s go to…” Yeah. Nightmare.
But eCrush won’t give up. Initially, he tried a Let’s Hunt Together bribe: new shoes. Clearly, eCrush knows his target audience and he almost had me. But he fouled it up when he mentioned the shoes weren’t from Nordstroms. Instead, he intended to give me shoes designed specifically for trail hiking and by extension, suitable for prolonged tree stand time. I asked if the fancy hunting sneakers would also help me run away from rampaging bears, and eCrush didn’t think that was funny, so, end of conversation. Since then, eCrush has wisely stopped his attempts at bribery. Even he admits Midwestern Sexy does not look good in camouflage. Consequently, he’s not tried to bribe me with survivalist-wanna-be-type pants. But last night, he broke out a new tactic: proof of ability.
eCrush (batting his puppy dog eyes): Why won’t you come (insert pheasant/quail/other fowl – I know it’s a bird. Aside from that, I don’t pay attention) hunting?
Me (all please, not this again): Moral issues. We’ve been over this.
eCrush (convinced he’s got a trump card): Well, if I can prove you’d be good at it, will you agree to go?
Me (doing a killer Skeptical Nicholson impression): HA! This, I am interested in.
That’s were eCrush proudly brandished an old school Nintendo.
eCrush (all jubilant): DUCK HUNT!
Two hours later, eCrush admitted defeat. Because if my Nintendo aim was that bad? He didn’t actually want me to come along for the real life version. Score one for me. And the general wildlife population of Maryland.