Tim's Tales from the Road
We have had a lot of snow over the last few days...7 inches last night alone. During the day it has turned into a rain snow mix which has turned everything into a deep slush. The worst to drive on. Every time I started to feel at ease, the shit would start to drag me back towards the ditch. There is no greater insult to a man with a 4x4 than to get caught sittin in the ditch as the Buicks roll on by. It ain't gonna happen to me. Though on the road into town I saw a Ranger and two Toyotas very nicely balanced upon objects and in areas never intended to see motorized traffic. Their young, male, and embarrassed drivers were waitin for tow trucks to bail them out. All of them were in water or surrounded by it in the ditch. All of them were ok and no, they didn't need a ride and all of them had tried to avoid a deer...of course. I nodded and expressed deep sympathy and no, I never rubbed it in nor did I question their stories. I did make a mental note that deer sure got around.
Real men understand that real men don't question other real men. That’s what wives are for. We men must tell our stories because that’s what real men do. We are obligated by the unwritten contract of The National Association of Real Men that we will back each other up in these stories. No matter what. And, when our stories become so ridiculous that they are no longer believable we will go back to our second defense and pursue the old strong silent type defense. Of course it won't work but we will do it anyway because real men are stubborn and it wouldn't be like us to just go ahead and admit defeat. We must go down with our ship. Which we do. With great style and stoic courage.
So to make a long story short, somewhere in Pend Oreille County last night three loggers came home to their wives and told them about this deer that they had to avoid. They will each present to their wives the $150.00 tow bill. She will opportunistically put them into an almost certain, semi-calculated, no win position with three possible propositions. Of these three options presented to the Ditch Riders after hearing their heroic tale, it will be the first option that they hope she will pursue. The others are much too horrible to consider.
Hopefully she will ask the question "Why didn't you just hit the damn thing?" Thereby thoughtlessly setting herself up for no end of grief during next hunting season, it is a win win situation for the real man type who is able to transfer the entire blame to the deer and therefore avoid all repercussion, responsibility and remorse for the drivers' actions. In short, it is the deer’s fault! Not 'speed too fast for conditions' or the bag of priceless Doritos that exploded on the floor and had to be picked up while careening down the highway at 70 mph.
Through her careless suggestion to "Hit the Damn Thing", she removes the personhood from the deer. The 'real man' feels compelled to point out to the wife person that she is now guilty of objectification and that she is bordering on becoming an animal misogynist as he reminds her of this as hunting season approaches. Wasn't it the previous winter that it was she who referred to the sacred and unkillable deer as: "That damned thing."? How can it be that this same unworthy and undeserving animal that isn't entitled to live another second in the dead of winter on a snowy highway is also the same animal she is now comparing to Bambi with sensual sighs and moans that you haven't heard since your wedding night? Just how did that deer go from one to the other? First it's menacing, disposable and ugly and now suddenly, it's graceful, beautiful and innocent? How do they do all that changing stuff? And why can't the real man get away with the same scam?
Or is the highway the equivalent to the tavern? A line is crossed in the mind of the woman once a deer walks upon ice encrusted pavement. It is the same line as when the ditch rider enters the local establishment dedicated to higher learning, fine adult beverages and frank manly discussions related to better understanding of women, sports, hunting and back again to women. Both transgressions become impossible offenses. Deer on pavement. Man in the presense of adult beverages in dark obnoxious cavelike tavern without hint of floral on the upholstery. Or wife present. Bad. Very, very bad.
They are both equally offensive to the wife person. A deer on the highway might be forgiven. It might once again be considered cute in the summer .Husband in tavern alone when he should be at home engaged in exciting 'honeydo' projects? Never!
Thus if she is stupid enough to ask the "Why didn't you just hit the damnthing" question you've got her. You explain that she has conflicted emotions and that she needs resolution and closure and that the only way to find peace is to go deer hunting. She needs to face her fears. Address the love hate relationship she has with the deer. Visualize Gandhi, Buddha, and Venison. You explain all this to her and although she graciously refuses to accompany you because she is still in denial and just can't face all this turmoil, she gives you her peace. You will get to go hunting next year every weekend without a fight.
This is the real man’s dream. Peace to Hunt. Forgiveness for not hitting the deer and burying the truck in a partially frozen swamp. No repentence for the tow bill. Or the alignment. Or the quality tavern time. Complete unconditional forgiveness.
But she won't. The real man knows this. It never works this way. She isn't stupid. She is so far ahead of him he can only dream of catching up.
So instead, she will ask the question "Why were you going so fast? You know better! ______________(insert husbands name here), how many times have I told you that four wheel drive does not make you God! IF, you hadn't been driving like an idiot we wouldn't have a $150 tow bill and have to get the truck aligned. I guess we'll just have to take that money out of your next hunting trip."
Most wives will choose this response. Be grateful...you do not want to go for option three. Option three is the most dreaded wife response to ditch riders everywhere. It goes something like this: "I told you that we should never have left my mothers in Southern California! They DON'T have snow in California and this would have never happened if you hadn't FORCED us into moving to this miserable place where there are no Espresso shoppes, no Nordtroms and only a Walmart 40 miles away! She will now burst into tears and you will apologize for ever being born and for ruining here life. You will also promise to buy her a new Lexus first chance you get. You will have to get rid of your 4x4to do it and the Lexus will only be able to be driven during the two days of summer that you get every other year but it will make her happy just the same and she will jump up and down and kiss you and you will wonder what the guys at the mill will think about you drivin' a Lexus and if it could be legitimately bragged about as being "the only one in the county".
So anyways I felt for those guys. I was just glad it wasn't me sittin there waitin' for the help to arrive. I was glad I was still on all fours and that I wouldn't be coming home with a big old tow bill and have to tell Dallas about this big uh Buick...yeah that’s it...it was a Buick driven by uh, uh uh a Grandma! Yeah it was a grandma driving a Buick and she was going the, uh wrong way on my side of the road and uh she uh she she lost it yeah, that’s it she lost it right in front of me and so I uh uh I drove in the ditch. Yeah that’s it. She forced me into the ditch and I uh, I HAD to call the TOWTRUCK And how was I supposed to know that HE WAS CUTE...and well, he wanted to show me his lift and I didn't want to be rude and so I let him…
Dallas won't force me into a Lexus. He will have mercy. He will understand. I won't have to drive a gasp...car! No, instead he will give me a more compassionate option. I will be walking. Everywhere.
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