Aug 20

Written by: michaela renee
8/20/2009 9:34 PM

For Episodes 1 & 2 please click to Michaela's Facebook (troll through the notes)

Episode 3 - Duck Hunt

I wasn’t with him when he packed for our two week trip to the Pacific Northwest. So I absolutely knew I was going to have to deal with the Crest hogging half the sink at the Lodge. What I was unaware of though, is that he opted to step up his game.

I guess this is a good time to back up and tell you, I hate camouflage clothing. It’s fine on military boys, matter of fact, in that case I even get a little warm fuzzy. But on the average Joe, it makes me think of a bloody Bambi falling over in the wilderness leaving behind baby deer to starve.

He knows this.

The journey to the fishing lodge in Alaska was exhilarating and as we unpacked our luggage for the first night the lackadaisical vibe of vacation was all around us.

I had already staked claim to well over half of the space in the upstairs bathroom spreading completely useless frou-frou girl products everywhere. I quickly jaunted to the bedroom to hog all the space in the large walk-in closet when I heard him yell from the bathroom.

"You know, the flip cap on your Colgate just doesn't have the structural integrity that the screw cap on my Crest does."

How dare he challenge the endless value and marketing research that went into the flip cap on my deliciously saucy Colgate. I calmly walked back toward the bathroom. I had every intention of ending the war once and for all. I was going to toss his Crest Original screw cap in the trash right in front of him. Just as I reached for the handle the door swung open.

There stood the biggest fashion faux paux I’d ever seen in my entire life. A complete and utter disgrace to the nuh-nite Gods.

He was leaning back protruding his belly out with his hands on his hips, fingertips holding up his weight by supplying pressure to his lower back.

Where once stood my beautiful, handsome country boy with a city style and Lucky Brand jeans stood a grizzly mountain man wearing a dark grey t-shirt and hideous camo sweatpants.

As I peered in closer, half expecting him to zap into a werewolf, I realized the PJ’s were the exact ones I’d banned him from bringing to San Diego months ago. The ones I thought I’d successfully “lost” the last time I did the laundry.

He had a shit ass grin on his face that said, “Dare you.”

All I could offer up was, “Seriously? Thank goodness there are two bedrooms up here. Because I’m not crawling into bed with a Bambi killer.”

I forgot about the toothpaste as I huffed downstairs in awe. I was headed straight for the kitchen. I needed a stiff drink, preferably something fruity and pink and filled with estrogen.

A few nights later I’m snuggled into my comfy chair reading a good book, drinking some red wine while he’s preparing dinner. I peer over the edge of my book just in time to catch him headed out to the grill on the deck overlooking Port Saint Nicholas Bay. I had to rub my eyes to ensure what I saw was in fact happening.

He was grilling…in a camouflage apron.

They make those? Are you kidding me? Is that because when you’re in the middle of the wilderness cooking over a Bunsen burner you don’t want to be spotted by the victim while you’re preparing the side dishes? Or is it that they like to dress up and invite them over for cocktails before they grill them up for dinner?

So, a few hours later we’re sitting at the dinner table shucking oysters and I mention that he’s holding his fork wrong…again. Mostly just because I’m trying to reclaim my half of the pants in the relationship and establish a little semblance of etiquette during our wilderness vacation.

His Dad immediately spots the debate that’s about to ensue and delightfully pipes, “Yeah, I don’t know where he got that, his Mom and I taught him great table manners.”

Judging by the fact that his Dad has better table manners than I do, I wholeheartedly concur. I curled my upper lip, cocked my head in disgust, shook my head side to side pathetically eyeing him as if I’m watching a vulture on a fish carcass and reply in the third person voice (you know, like how the narrator talks over the wildlife shows on discovery), “It’s as if he learned to eat in a Mess Hall.”

Then I put my head back down to my dinner project and mumble something about vowing to fix “that fork issue.”

His Dad laughs and decides not to let this blow over so easy, “Does that mean he gets to keep his camo pajamas?”

My mouth dropped. Now I know what he must feel like around my Mom, because I don’t keep anything from her, and apparently he doesn’t keep anything from his Dad.

“Are you kidding me? This isn’t one for one, it’s not even trade. I’m allowing the PJ’s during this holiday, but I WILL rid the bathroom of the Crest Original.” I replied.

The next thing I know, I’m like the ducks in the Duck Hunt video game flocking back and forth between the two sides of the screen avoiding the inevitable “pap-pap“ of the pellet gun.

“Hey now. The Crest Original he got from me. I hate Colgate. I only use it in an absolute pinch, if I’m in a small town with one liquor store and I forgot the Crest and all they have is a tube of Colgate.” His Dad argues.

Whack, one little ducky falls to the meadow.

“See Babe, I told you, your Colgate sucks. I’ve been using Crest Original my whole life.”

Cue the video game extra points for gang bang music.

Dad excitedly adds, “Yep. My parents used to make me use Shackley’s as a kid. When I’d stay overnight at friends houses, and they’d have Crest I’d get so excited. The minute I turned 18 I started buying Crest.”

Son squints one eye through the view finder and takes aim, “Yeah, at Grandma’s I used to have to use it.“ He made gagging noises. “That’s what her Colgate tastes like, chalk!”

“Nothing foams like Crest.”

I’m flocking wildly trying to dodge the attack. It’s a losing proposition. My air advantage is nothing to their heavy artillery. I can’t even getting a word in edgewise. I’m too busy flapping my wings, gasping for air…hitting the sides of the screen and u-turning.

“Nope, you’re right Dad. There’s nothing like Crest Original.”

“And Original is really hard to come by nowadays, all this colored toothpaste crap hogging space on the shelf: bubblegum with sparkles, wintery spearmint green, cherry chip ice cream flavor.”

“Oh I know, and you should see her Colgate, whitening and fluoride with liqua-gel capsules.”

“It’s like potato chips. Back in my day you had original and BBQ. Now there’s nacho, dill ketchup.”

“Triple fusion chipolte ranch with buffalo.”

I couldn’t hold my laughter in any longer. The war is over.

He may be a camouflage-wearing grizzly mountain man who holds his fork wrong and uses pale green, barely mint flavor burn the inside of your cheeks off, Crest Original with the God awful screw cap…

But he’s one hell of a good guy…and a damn good kisser. I think I’ll keep him.

Copyright ©2009 michaela renee

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