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:
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.
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.