The rack.

Scott is going to strangle me when he reads this.

He doesn’t always read my blog so maybe this will squeak by.

You see – it all started with this:

photo-1

Scott failed to tell me he picked up one of his deer at the taxidermist. You can imagine the shock on my face upon seeing this in the car.

Fine. Whatever. The crap I put up with.

I drove Scott to the airport after picking up Emma from school. Scott rode in the back with the girls while I got crazy looks from semi-truck drivers looking down into the passenger seat.

We arrived at the airport. Scott got his bags and reached over the deer to give me a kiss goodbye.

Scott: Don’t try and move the deer in the house. I’ll call Hunter and ask him to come over and move it for you.

Me: What? I don’t need Hunter’s help.

Scott: You’ll bang it or something. Or throw it down the stairs. I know how you are with my hunting stuff. It’s very fragile, especially the rack. Just let Hunter move it. I’ll meet you in Napa this weekend. Love you. Bye.

How dare he think I can’t handle moving it. Hunter doesn’t need to come over. I’m not that kind of woman. I can do it myself. I’ll text him a picture of the deer safely put away. Hey wait. Pictures…

Oh, this will be good.

What's for dinner, mom?
What’s for dinner, mom?
Ooooo. Fancy table for the guest!
Ooooo The fancy table! For me?
Hey wait, that's not Hunter is it?
Hey wait, that’s not Hunter is it?
I'm singin' in the rain...
“So fresh and so clean clean.”
Hey do you think the neighbors can see my rack?
Hey, you think the neighbors can see my rack?
What.
What.
Are we allowed to sit on couch?
So, uh, animals are allowed to sit on the new couch, right?
He's standing right behind me, isn't he.
He’s standing right behind me, isn’t he.
Night gowns!
Night gowns!
Kids are in bed. What'll it be?
Kids are in bed. What’ll it be?
Two Boulevards on tap.  Coming right up. On the house.
Two Boulevard Wheats on tap, coming right up. It’s on the house.
“Memories…like the corners of my mind…”
You’re drunk, deer.
Don't hate us, Scott! :)
Don’t hate us, Scott!

The deer was not harmed during our little photo shoot. Wait, it’s dead. I mean, how can it possibly be harmed? Scott was the one that harmed it. Technically.

I’ll be sleeping on the couch for the next month.

___________

Wait, don’t go! Find me on FacebookTwitter, and Instagram.

28 thoughts on “The rack.

  1. I had several witty and funny things to say until I got toward the end, then all I could think was HOLY CRAP, THEY HAVE DRAFT BEER AT THEIR HOUSE!! I put my foot down (my only contribution to the wedding day) that we were having our reception at a particular place because they had Boulevard Wheat on tap! That it was one of the cheaper places was irrelevant.

    If you ever…I mean ever, need a sitter…lol.

    Like

    1. ha, yes we have draft beer. And we brew our own. He designed the whole bar so we could have taps coming from the wall. Boulevard Wheat is definitely one of my favs, also like Boss Tom. Good call on the reception – it’s all about the party anyway. 🙂

      Like

      1. I’m a hunter, and I think it’s hysterical! I’m hoping to get my first deer this year, and if I do, he’s definitely going to have a tiara on all the time! 🙂

        Like

  2. I think if we ever get head mounts in the future, they will get dressed up while my boyfriend’s at work, I don’t care if he gets mad. If one of the mounts is ever mine, it might very well stay dressed up. Too funny.

    Like

  3. If hubby’s moose rack wasn’t so big (pervert!), I’d have to do that! LMAO! That is the best laugh I’ve had in days! AWESOME! You could start a new trend: animal mount shaming. LMAO!

    Thank you for linking that up with the Humor Me! Blog Hop! still chuckling….

    Like

Ok, now it's your turn - write me back.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s