For the past six days, I've been a bachelorette. It's been quiet on the Scribe homefront. With Kao my trusty boxer by my side, I've been hoofing it alone, keeping the home fires burning while The Man has been out in the wilderness, forging for dinner and drinking more than his weight in beer.
But while he's been male bonding by not shaving or showering for days, I had visions in my head of bear attacks, a killer loon or worse, getting lost in the woods while on the hunt for more beer. When he left this past Friday morning, he announced he would see me later, heading out for a four-day fishing trip with the boys. And here is where the difference between men and women became even more apparent.
Four days. A four-day fishing trip. He left on Friday, so in my female mind that meant I would see him Monday night, Tuesday morning at the latest. Four days is four days. What he meant to say was that he would be out fishing for four days straight, communing with nature, or as much nature as possible when you have a propane-fueled fridge-freezer combination and no cell phone service. He forgot to mention that there were two extra travel days - the Friday to drive an hour past Sudbury and a fly-in on a "Beaver" and another two trips by plane and a four-hour car ride.
Now, you know I had to stifle a laugh, a guffaw when I heard he was riding in a Beaver. It's a plane, people, that lands on water because where he was that's all you saw. I saw pictures. It's true. He went to hunt, I mean fish pike, bass and lake trout. Rainbow trout. And the Man landed the biggest fish of the weekend. And while I was proud when he actually set foot inside the house tonight, the last two days all I envisioned were his mauled carcass from the obvious black bear attack that kept him away from home.
I'm a worrier by nature. I come by it honestly. As the Man often says "Your mother came before you." Now if you know my mother, that is not a good thing. But neither are bear attacks. Or worse. According to the Man, that would be running out of beer.
Instead, he got a swift kick to the shins and I got sincere apologies. "I thought I told you we were coming back on Wednesday," he said. "No, you said four days. Never did you mention anything about the Wednesday homecoming. I had no contact with you, no contact with the boys' significant others. No idea when you were slated to go into work." It's tomorrow, by the way, and he's not looking forward to it, especially since I think he's still detoxing. He had chased a rainbow trout with a few onions and a vat of alcohol. Beer. Rum. Two kinds. GoldSchlager. Erg. Gag. I think I just threw up in my mouth.
I think he's going to start the morning with a beer chaser. And another kick to the shin, but the left one this time since I have to keep it balanced. Oh, and I think I'm going to play CDs of lake loons, beavers, moose and bear just to rub it in that he's no longer communing with nature but rather commuting to work. I'll just have to start planning my next vacation with the girls. It won't be flying in to a fishing lodge, but perhaps flying somewhere hot and far far away from the confines of work.