It was just a duck. With the potential of a buffalo or a bear. I called my friend yesterday–to make sure she arrived home after her weekend away. Silly me–I thought it was a date. But, her friends had just invited her to go duck hunting–but I didn’t know that until later.
She’d had a stressful week at work making decisions about her employment future and it was just good to get away from it all. She ended up in a gutted camper van on a cot with a sleeping bag and a dog. The dog was for company (and to alert her for wild animals such as buffalos or bears–none of which she’d want to encounter if she had to pee in the middle of the night.) We laughed and talked about that for a while, the pros and cons of outhouses vs. just going. And I told her I have a blog entry on “how to pee in the woods (and keep your dignity“). But, basically, she thought it was funny that she should have to open the door to the camper and look both ways before she stepped out into the night.
What were you looking for? I ask.
Buffalo. She laughed.
Yep. You don’t want to step out into the middle of a herd of buffalo.
And all I can think is: Why are you camping in the middle of a herd of buffalo?
She wasn’t, but apparently, there were enough buffalo in the area — that there could have been a possibility that they would wander into their camp.
Right then. I say. Buffalo. What else? How was the rest of the weekend? (AND MY REAL QUESTION IS: DID YOU GET ANY NOOKEY?) because I still didn’t know that it wasn’t a date.
And she talks about shooting the rifles (and I don’t know when she learned to shoot rifles–I’ll have to ask her about that). And hunting ducks. They bagged two ducks. But, she says, the 12 gauge has a nasty bite if you don’t shoulder it properly. I have to ask is she bruised her boob (because I’m still trying to find out if she got any nookey).
No. She’s a bit indignant. I bruised my shoulder and now it’s sore.
So that’s it? You shot two ducks and had to watch out for buffalo before you went pee–what kind of a date was that?
She said it was just a weekend with friends. Just regrounding and regrouping after her stressful week at work. A weekend unplugged. (And that sounded sort of romantic to me).
Oh. I say. Where was your date?
She didn’t have a date. Just a weekend away with friends. She got some kisses from her puppy though. Does that count?
I guess, I sigh. I guess.
What about you?, she asks. What do you have to report on? Because she knows how uncomfortable I am. I tell her that after my housemate moved out on Friday, that I was relieved that it was done–I took myself out for a drink. And I had two blood-orange margaritas at Barn Diva. And I think the bartender made the second one really strong. And I talked to a couple visiting from Oregon. And I took them over to John and Zekes so they could have more of a local experience. And I ended up making out with a 20-something out back.
Does that count?
Definitely. She laughs. Definitely.