March 11, 2009
One of the strangest things about living in rural Maine has to do with the guns. From September through December, everywhere you look, people are casually toting their firearms around.
In Texas I found that upstanding citizens generally prefer to obtain a permit and conceal their weapons. Welp, not so much in Maine. We like to waggle 'em all over the dern place. I'm pretty sure it has to do with the size of firearms in Maine. I mean, come on, if you try to conceal a .22 caliber long rifle anywhere on your body you're going to walk like a pirate--trust me, the turkeys will see you coming from a mile away.
Mainers don't pack heat for self-protection or illegal activity, we pack heat for the simple purpose of feeding our homemade jerky habits. If you haven't tried it, you should, because one little strip of turkey jerky will provide you with more than enough energy to stand in line at the WalMart for many, many minutes.
It will also pull you through mile 23 of a grueling, full-length marathon. Trust me, I know. I've run two.
It's March, long past hunting season, and honestly, I haven't seen a rifle strapped to some guy's back, or some guy's bike, or the roof of some guy's Geo Prism in months--yet here I sit, going on and on and on about our statewide fascination with taggin' vermin.
It has everything to do with today's clothing choice.
I like to run, you see. And when I run, in an effort to distinguish myself from the ass end of a deer, I wear a crap load of orange. Bright orange hat, electric orange vest, blaze orange socks hiked up to my knees, and of course, and orange sports bra. You know, in case my clothes fall off.
You can never be too cautious.
Anywho, when I got out of bed this morning I came face-to-face with a five foot laundry pile (five feet tall--not walking around on five feet). I was like, "Screw you dirty clothes!"
They didn't respond.
So I was like, "I said SCREW YOU DIRTY CLOTHES!!! I HATE YOU!!! WASH YOUR DAMN SELVES."
Jared was all, "Amy. Shut up."
So I did. I shut up and I casually shuffled to my closet, head hanging, hoping in my heart that some really cute shirts had sprouted over night. No luck. So, due to a complete lack of alternatives, I grabbed my green striped sweater and my bright orange fleece running vest.
Usually I'd only wear the sweater, but I'm having a bra crisis. One of the underwires was poking the holy heck out of my hooter, so I pulled it out and threw it in the trashcan at The Blue Canoe (I was buying some Combos). Unfortunately, it's my only clean bra, and due to the lack of equitable support, it appears that one boob is normal and one boob is looking to the left, so I had to cover the whole scene with my vest. My blaze orange vest.
When I walked out of the bedroom this morning, Jared was like, "Gosh Amy, I don't know what it is, but you look nice!"
"Uh? Thank you?"
Then I went to The Blue Canoe (you know, to buy some Combos), and Darlene was like, "Don't you look cute today! I like your vest." I complimented the clerk on her smock and went on my way.
Then the plow guy gave me a semi-flirty smile and the raging pervert down the hall told me that I "look lovely this morning." I don't know, I'm baffled. Maybe I look less like a moose than I usually do? Or maybe orange takes the attention away from my ass flab? I have no idea. But I'm definitely wearing this vest again tomorrow.
A girl can never be too sexy...or too safe.