It IS Thanksgiving week, though, and in our household, that means one thing - shotgun season for deer. Hunting season, in these parts, always seems to start the Saturday before Thanksgiving. For the past few years, M. has traveled to his parents' house in central New York for a 10 day hunting escapade. Each year, he packs his truck full of hunting stuff, all carefully sprayed with "Fresh Earth" scent to cover any lingering human odors..
And then I'm pretty sure he spends the next 48 hours praying that this will be the year of The Big One. True story: he and his friends have a very ritualistic party the night before opening day that may or may not involve actual idol worship and rubbing of antlers. I'm not sure, because I've never been invited. It's totally legit to mock rituals you don't understand, right?
It's been a whopping TWO WHOLE YEARS since he shot a deer (large or small), and the freezer is looking a little bare. And so, with visions of Hank's venison steak Diane dancing in my head, I gave him a kiss and sent him on his way on Friday.
How happy I was to hear that he got one! Not a big one, by any means, but at least he broke his losing streak. And I can have my steak Diane.
While M. spends the holiday week with the deer and his family, I'll be spending it with my family in DC. I can't wait to see them all - and to shock them with the size of my belly.
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