1. I? Am a city girl. I'm originally from Florida so I know what living urban means. I don't like wild animals unless they are in a zoo with tranquilizers handy in case they get a little frisky. I don't eat "wild" meat, meaning if it hasn't been injected with dyes and water and comes in cellophane from the grocery store I won't eat it. I don't eat fresh vegetables, fruits, etc. Actually I don't eat those anyways unless you count frozen corn and purple grapes. (No, they aren't red...they are clearly purple). Oh and lettuce. But that is a whole other post. I don't like bugs, I like neighbors and traffic, even neighborhood drug dealers.
2. Matt, my husband, is country. And I say that with love. Really, I do. I didn't understand how "country" he was until we had been dating awhile, but I figured this was something I could overlook. His parents live way out in the country, or as his brother Karl would say, "between butt fuck nowhere and na-ner-ner-ner" (insert annoying country song here). Which is actually accurate. His dad works for the DNR (and if you have no idea what that is, it's the Department of Natural Resources so this is obviously working with and for wildlife). They own guns. They eat "wild" meat and have a garden, and think nothing of shooting animals on property, etc.
Matt and I. First picture together- January 2002. Aw...So yesterday I was catching up on my blogs and I found a new one that I am loving, My Masonic Apron. Well anyways he posted about roadkill which triggered a memory I had of a conversation Matt and I had years ago. About roadkill.
You see back in the day, Matt had a little red pickup truck. And one day, he hit a deer on his way home. He didn't run it over, it apparently hit him, and like hobbled off to the side and collapsed. So if this were me, not only would I slam on my breaks to avoid hitting Bambi, but if I did hit Bambi I would literally stop the car and proceed with the crying and screaming. I would never get out of the car. What if it attacked me like it's going all Animals Gone Wild or some shit?? Yeah, no.
So Matt, being country, gets out of the truck. Grabs a tire iron and proceeds to beat the animal in the head until it dies. I know. And to think I had KIDS with Bambi's murderer. But instead of just leaving the damn thing to die with little to no dignity, he wiggles the legs a bit to see if it's still good or something, and then puts it in his truck because as he said, "It was still warm". FUCK. NO. YOU. DIDN'T. Oh, but he did.
He then proceeds to drive it home (his parents house at the time) hang the disgusting carcass from a tree so that it could do whatever it is dead animals do while hanging upside down from a tree. His dad, not concerned that Matt brought home a dead animal, is more concerned that he didn't get called first.
So then they eat it. I fucking kid you not, dead Bambi was eaten for dinner. I thought Matt lied, but no, it was confirmed by his brother Karl. And not only that but Karl tells me this is like normal. NORMAL!! I know. I'm gagging too. And Karl tells me they've done this before. It's like suddenly, I'm surrounded by cannibals. I mean, that's kind of what it feels like. Just the thought that maybe I'm getting tricked into eating something weird at their house is why I never eat. I'm such a picky eater but if I ate something to find out later, or even think, I ate something weird. Instant bulimia then anorexia. I am not kidding.
So, what are you having for dinner?