Hunting

Ticks and Johnny Boy.

Scott: What are you doing?

Me: Taking a selfie with a lady bug.

Scott: Why?

Me: I don’t know.

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I was trying to take my mind off the blood-sucking ticks crawling up my back. I was also trying to take my mind off the boob sweat running down my shirt.

Or maybe it was a line of marching ticks.

As Scott’s wife, being an outdoorswoman is a requirement. Even if I didn’t tag along on Scott’s Polaris Ranger adventures through the woods, I would still wake up in bed with a tick stuck on me because Scott brings the outdoors home in his beard.

And I don’t mean he brings home roses.

Well, maybe rose thorns poking my ass.

Scott: WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!

Me: LICKING A SALT LICK, SCOTT.

Scott: WHAT!

Me: DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT!

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I’m not a hateful person. I don’t hate the outdoors. But I do hate ticks. Those little blood-sucking mother fuc –

Scott: What are you doing?

Me: Take a picture of me.

Scott: Put your feet down. No one drives like that.

Me: But this is how I drive ole’ Johnny Boy.

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What am I really doing? I’m escaping the news. I’m spending time with my husband in the great outdoors while I play host to the bugs of summer. 

There is no such thing as driving ‘ole Johnny Boy in the middle of nowhere. Our communication with the world is too good. It’s a blessing but also a curse.

Within minutes, thousands – maybe even millions – know the moment tragedy strikes. And at that moment, it’s always too late. Siblings are ripped apart. Friends are never seen again. Parents bury their children. Only a memory remains when it’s too late. All we can offer is a prayer, a wish, or maybe a glance up at the stars for peace.

Who’s to blame for tragedy? I don’t know. I’m not here to argue. I don’t have time to argue. My world is much too small for that.

Enjoy your life with your loved ones.

Even if you’re crawling with ticks.

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