It's Coming.

Fall is in the air.

  I love fall. 

I prefer to wear cozy sweaters and jeans as opposed to shorts and tank tops. 

Cozy sweaters are way more forgiving. 

I love burning pumpkin pie candles and get ready for all the holiday seasons.

I love Thanksgiving. 

And I am glad that during this time, I can wear baggy sweaters and eat to my heart's delight.

I love seeing family and eating delicious food that I did not have to prepare.

Yes, I have been married for 9 years and have not once prepared a huge turkey dinner on Thanksgiving.

That's not called lazy.

That's called smart.

And don't even get me started on the day after Thanksgiving.

I will always be a proud supporter of Black Friday.

Yes, I wake up at 4am to get good deals.

That is not crazy.

That is smart.

In the evening, we bundle everyone up and take them downtown to the parade and fireworks.

Afterwards, everyone comes over to our house for hot chocolate, dinner, and games.

I love Catch Phrase.

No one ever wants to play it with me.

But guess what else is coming.

Now, I honestly do not mind that the Lumberjack eats, sleeps, and breathes hunting during the months of October and November. 

 I can manage without him being around for two months.

What I do not like is when it enters too much into my world.

Allow me to explain:

The Lumberjack and his brother, Alex, both shot a buck one hunting season. 

For some reason unbeknownst to me, my house was determined to be the slaughter house.

I am more than willing to have the deer butchered outdoors, although the snow makes us look like our house recently filmed a horror flick.

But the Lumberjack informed me it was too cold to do that outside.

What?

You can hunt from 4 am to 4 pm outside and be fine, but all of a sudden it is too cold to be outside when it comes time to butcher the poor innocent creature who was doing nothing wrong to you?  (sorry-I do not understand hunting)

Well, I clearly do not wear the pants because one Saturday morning, Alex arrives at our house and they are ready to go, knives in hand.

Remember Alex?

You can imagine my hesitation at the thought of Alex and the Lumberjack in my home armed with knives and carcasses.

So, there they were from 10am until 9pm.

In MY kitchen.

Using MY table.

Sitting in MY dining room chairs.

Hours and hours of slaughtering.

Right there in the comfort of my home.

Their hands were covered with sinew and blood and cartilage and meat and hair.

I actually have no clue what sinew is or if it applies.

And there is Alex, opening MY fridge, moving around MY CHILDREN'S milk jug to find a Pepsi.

Touching things.

With sinew hands.

There were deer remnants on the fridge, in the fridge, on the dishwasher, on the oven, on the counters, on the floor, on the chairs, on the table . . .

After they left, I cleaned up the kitchen.

The smell was horrible.

My stomach was queasy.

The bleach was flowing.

I believe I shed a tear. 

 Or two.

Or 8,000.

Somebody must teach me how to wear the pants.

Please.

Because I cannot go through that again.

Anyone?