Hunting.
When we were dating, he took me hunting. You know, the good kind where we'd drive around in the truck, holding hands and talking. I was even brave and showed up for the deer gutting process once when he killed this beast of a buck. He shoot it to impress me. How could I not have been impressed?
Not the most disgusting thing I've ever participated in, but pretty close.
For some reason, I thought that hunting was a Fall/Autumn time activity: a short season where I would join the Deer Hunt Widow Society and get some well-deserved alone time. I was willing to indulge in the "Me Time" at least that often, as I quite enjoy the company of my husband.
Sadly, he is on his umpteenth Horn Hunting trip.
*Side note: I told my beautiful mother that Ben was going Horn Hunting. She thought I said "Whore Hunting." I told her not anymore, because he's married now. Bless her precious heart. She always makes us laugh inadvertently.
It is possible that I could go with, except I'm not sure he knew what he was getting into when he put this ring on my finger. I cannot actually stand hiking or being outside much. I've gone trekking through the brush once or twice with him, but I'm afraid my thousands of questions about this type of tree or rock formation and my whining will be the downfall of our union.
