Camouflage and Neon Lights.

Every fall, the guy I live with, aka: Big Dude Little Glasses, takes off for a week of what he calls “Elk Hunting.” He leaves with a bunch of food, camoflauge fleece pants and a bow. As in bow-and-arrow. Like Cupid. This is what he says he is going to aim at the elk when he comes across it. Most folks we know in our completely white collar neighborhood are very relieved to know he only takes skinny little arrows to kill a 1000 pound animal, because it “gives the elk a fair chance,” but after several years and many thousands of dollars, it is obviously not fair at all. THE ELK HAVE A DISTINCT ADVANTAGE. I have taken to whispering in his ear while he sleeps, “You will know untold husbandly pleasures if you will just once, for the love of all that’s holy, use a frickin’ rifle.”

I say this because not one time has my sweet betrothed returned with a dead elk. Not even a little piece of a dead elk. Not even an elk steak purchased from a meat market, unwrapped and stuck in dirt to trick me. I would very much like 1000 pounds of high mountain grass-fed organic meat in the freezer after the investment that we’ve made. It would be like if you went to Hawaii five times and didn’t take any pictures, pick up any shells, get a lei, or pay $9 for a Big Mac. Why the hell go?

I admit that a week in a cabin with beer and three men sounds mighty appealing – but could we pretty please have an elk? I’ve been patient, but after many years of this, evidence seems to be building that he’s not even going hunting at all.

I suspect he’s actually just going on a week-long bender to Vegas with his buddies.

Consider the facts:
1. Well this one’s a biggie…there’s no elk. Not even a picture of an elk. There are good stories about elk, but he could have easily gotten those by watching the hunting channel. IN VEGAS.

2. He leaves clean shaven and showered and he comes home with six days of beard, a duffle of dirty underwear and smelling of elk cow urine. An obvious cover up so the scent of smoky casinos and hookers doesn’t linger on his camo. Have you ever been on a return flight from Vegas? Everyone on there looks tired, needs a shave and smells like piss.

3. He mails $500 to his friend in early summer and gives him another $500 when he leaves. Why? So there’s no receipt to the Bellagio IN VEGAS, I’m guessing. The first payment is a hotel deposit, the second an installment for blackjack. His single friend handles it so none of the wives figure it out. It’s the same concept as strip clubs who have their visa receipts say “Glory Be To Him Christian Bookstore” instead of “Dirty Merle’s Nekkid Cheerleaders.”

4. He leaves with a bunch of canned goods and groceries…and returns with…almost all of them. He claims it’s because all of the guys brought too much…I contend he’s too full of $2.99 all-you-can-eat prime rib buffet to eat canned stew and granola bars.

It’s all just so…well, obvious.

Pookie – if you want to continue the charade, I’ll play along. You work hard and you certainly deserve a week off now and then to wear fleece pants and drink beer with the fellas. Go ahead, call it “elk hunting.” I’m all for it. If you could just do me the favor of showering at the airport it’d be super. Oh, and you should know…I’m considering joining a “book club.”