My husband is a hunter. Hunting season is sacred. I don't try to book appointments, nights out, etc. after the last Friday of October. Period. It simply isn't going to happen.
For quality time together, either I join him, or more often then not, I stay home. To HE*double hockey sticks with freezing my buns off in the woods. But I do like autumn. The changing colours, the smell of wet leaves littering the ground... It was a beautiful morning after a night of rain. So I went for a walk through the woods with my hunting husband. Nothing got shot, injured or maimed in any way. Don't get all excited. Yes, that's me, looking like a total dork, drinking tea from a china cup and reading Harlot. In the woods. Quite the fashion statement, wouldn't you say? He didn't take too well to the way I was (not really) holding onto his rifle. I just didn't want to spill my tea or drop my book. Did we really need a picture to commemorate the moment? Our walk through crown land brought us to a chopping where we found that like shack. Figured it was a good place to stop for a break. And I was informed none too subtly that in the future the Harlot must stay home. Apparently my cackling (as he so unkindly put it) scares the deer away. But I just couldn't put the book down. I've been savouring it, reading it slowly, trying to make it last. Did you read the part about the one sock? Sooooo sad. Such a touching story. Harlot, you're my hero and inspiration.
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