Is Hawg Hunting a Saturday Night Date?

By Mari W Henry

You fall in love with the love of your life, but there is a catch. You are thrust into a man's world of hunting and fishing without any of the necessary skills, experience, or equipment. It all feels like a test. Can you keep up? This prompts a series of comedic short stories seen through the perspective of a gurl. The adventures begin on your second date, duck hunting in the early morning with a bunch of tobacco-chewing, snorting, men, followed by hawg hunting in the evening. Which begs the question, is hawg hunting considered a Saturday night date? How do you lure your boyfriend away on a romantic getaway? You go tarpon fishing in Belize. But your string bikini cannot compete for his attention with the whack job fish.The journey of humorous adventures will keep you chuckling.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781662420238

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Is Hawg Hunting a Saturday Night Date?

Mari W Henry

Copyright © 2021 Mari W. Henry

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2021

Illustrated by Vincent M. Hunter

ISBN 978-1-6624-2022-1 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-6624-2023-8 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Mom, Please, Go to the Dressing Room!

Gurl on a Duck Hunt

Oh, Boy, That Can’t Be Good

Is Hawg Hunting a Saturday Night Date?

Romantic Tarpon Hunt

Lure Me Silly

Baby! Guess What I Got You for Your Birthday!

The Crystal Fishing Ball

Bluewing Worries

It’s All in the Spots

The Case of the Dissenting Decoy

Maxis Axis

Pink Be Gone!

It’s a Bird, It’s a Plane, No, It’s a Teal!

The Man Dance

Where Are You Going Now?

But What About Me?

The Shakes

Banded!

Turkey Honeymoon

Pee-pee, Chak-chak!

No Way! Not the Boat

Please Pass the Bass Boat

1,000 Square Feet of Garage

I would like to dedicate this to

Jesus Christ God Son Savior

Mom, Please, Go to the Dressing Room!

So what is the first thing we need to buy for this duck and goose hunt? Neoprene waders… Neon what? Synthetic rubber…

Well, that does not sound very comfortable or fashionable. So you are telling me that I have to wear a rubberized body bag?

Yes, of course. I want to be dry, warm, and impenetrable.

Impenetrable? What is going to penetrate them? Creatures?! What kind of creatures? Okay, well, what do they look like? No, the creatures!

So what do these neoprene waders look like? Are they cool looking? Maybe they are like a sleek black catsuit that makes your figure look like Halle Berry.

Well, of course I know it is not about what you look like. Yes, I know it is all about function. Jeez, David, give me a little credit. Dumb guys. Don’t they know that a gurl has to look good to feel good to do good?

Say, I wonder if they come with mink liners or better yet, beaver. Now that would be a wader. Don’t laugh. Why wouldn’t it work? Beavers hang out in water, making dams, swimming around, and doesn’t the water just roll off their backs? Seems logical to me.

I bet you could even make them reversible. Think of that. Stylish, warm, water-repellent, and formfitting to show off those girlish curves while remaining functional. Function and from the perfect combination. Who says I do not understand anything about hunting? And they say girls are dumb! In the aisles of Academy, David, begins rummaging through the boxes. Men’s large, men’s extra large, men’s extra long, men’s, men’s, men’s…

Honey? Where is the women’s section?

What? There is no women’s section for this sort of garment, beaver lined or otherwise. Okay, it can’t be that tough. I wear men’s jeans, after all.

Let’s look for a men’s small, maybe extra small. I mean it is just one long piece of green or camo-looking Saran Wrap.

Ah, here we go, try these on.

I sit down in the aisle, take off my boots, and slide my feet into the attached booties, jimmying them up over my pants. Darn…stuck…can’t get the darn things up. No, really, it is the pants that are in the way. Okay, what kind of hunter would have smaller thighs than me? Everyone knows that hunters are big, burly guys with thunder thighs, gnarly hands, and large biceps built like pipes.

These stupid things are mis-sized, David!

Probably made in Taiwan by some misinformed neo-whats and is tailor ignorant of the proper physique for this manly sport. Dumb Taiwanese neo-something tailor.

I look at David for those special words of encouragement and affirmation: Yep, stupid manufacturers, obviously mismarked, honey, cuz you are definitely an extra small.

Instead, I hear, Umm, that is not good. Let’s try the small. Those are not going to work.

With a wounded ego, I peel off the extra small and look at the box.

Oh, that explains it! Look, the box says Extra-Extra Small!

Holy cow! See? There is no shame in not fitting into an extra, extra Small. One would have to be a midget, for heaven’s sake. And everyone knows that midgets do not hunt. Okay, let’s try this again. Extra small it is. Back on the floor, one foot at a time into the booties. I get the Saran Wrap up to the thighs again.

Stuck! No way! I am going to get these blasted Taiwanese, thigh-busting waders on!

As both my men are staring at my gyrations, I assure them that they are stuck on my pants, not on my thighs. I wiggle to the left, pull and yank on the right, wiggle to the right, and pull to the left.

Lord, have mercy! I…will…get…these…up! I am a Men’s XS, after all.

As I wiggle and writhe in the middle of the aisle at Academy, my son, sitting on the sidelines, screams, Mom! Go to the dressing room! People are staring!

Oh, please, like they have never seen a grown woman struggle with neoprene waders before.

Okay, he may have a point, but I am too far into this exercise to stop now. Besides, I won’t get up and walk at this point. These darn things are lodged between my knees, stuck on the pocket of my pants… Okay, okay, not on the pocket.

I look pleadingly to David for help. He sees my dilemma, and he hoists me up like a stuffed sausage. Once vertical and teetering, he turns me around back to front, grabs either side of the waders, and says, Hold on.

Boing, boing, boing.

With my feet off the floor, I bounce up and down as David yanks on the waders like he’s settling potatoes into a too-small sack. Little by little, I make clearance over, well, you know.

Walla! I am over the pockets section and have now made contact with the waist. I am extra small! Ye of little faith. No shame in that size, right?

My son, cringing in the corner, hisses between clinched teeth. Mom! Don’t you think you should go to the dressing room for that?

Why? How do they look?

Yummy, David says. Very nice! Those fit you perfectly!

But something doesn’t feel quite right. Then I realize what it is. There is a large wad of material between my legs. I look down and yep, there it is.

David, look! What is this? These must be defective.

Nope, they are all like that. Mine do the same thing.

Well, doesn’t that bother you? Give me another one of your bungee cord pulls. This will drive me crazy. We probably just didn’t get them into the right place. One more good yank should do it.

Up we go. Boing, boing, boing. Nope. No luck. My son is beside himself.

Mom, jeez. Please go to the dressing room! You are embarrassing me. Everyone is staring!

Honey, I am more concerned with the defective nature of these waders. Look. The baggy bulge is still there. Don’t you all see it?

And then it all becomes clear, large as life, for a man, that is. You do not pack that extra punch in that particular place, therefore it’s not a perfect fit.

Well, if I were designing these things, I would have accounted for the proper inseam and a bit of a nip in the waist to accentuate the gurly figure. Maybe a stylish belt to accessorize.

Oh, that’s right. These are men’s. There is no women’s hunting section. No nip, no belt, no darts, and no mink or beaver lining.

I wonder if my alteration lady could fix them, I muse, looking down and around.

The boys roll their eyes.

Gurls! David says, exasperated. They will be just fine. No one will be looking.

Well! That stings! What does he mean by no one will be looking?

Now for the wading boots.

What size are you in men’s? David asks.

You mean no women’s boots either? Now I am getting mad. What is wrong with this sport? Don’t they know that women want to lie in the muck, shoot firearms, and make animals drop out of the sky too? It is no wonder that men think women whine. They would, too, if they had to walk around with too much between their knees while their feet slashed around inside a boot. It makes a gurl want to go out and kill something.

I need a seven. Narrow, please.

You’re kidding! No width distinction either?

Back on the floor, I struggle to pull the wading boots over the wader booties. Wow, it is getting hot in here! No, I am not having a hot flash. Sweat starts rolling down my temple anyway.

These boots are too big!

Thank goodness, it would be too much if the boots were too small. Well, I suppose they will be okay, as the bootie takes up more room than normal socks. But someone is going to pay if I get a humongous blister.

Finally! Fully geared up. Waders, wading boots.

Oh, boy! David says. You look sexy, baby!

Really?

Maybe it was all worth it then.

All of sudden, I feel like I am going to pass out. Back down on the floor, I begin peeling off the boots.

Hurry…hurry…

A wave of nausea comes over me. Then I remember. Perhaps it was that jumbo footlong beef hotdog smothered with onions that I had at Home Depot. It is lodged in my throat!

David, help me! Grab the heel, would ya?

Now the booties. Whoa, pony! My pants are coming off with the waders!

I slide on the floor holding my pants as David peels from side to side, working the waders down past the thigh section…I mean pockets.

Mom! Okay, that’s it! I am going to go over to the basketball section!

Almost got it, honey! Just one more good yank!

See? If a woman designed these things, and