My Heart Is An Ironic Hunter

On Halloween I took an unintentional four-hour nap. I rolled awake and called Robbie Wildes and said, "So I woke up dressed as a hunter..."
Before my nap, I had resolved to not dress up for about five minutes, when Mia came into my room and told me that I had to dress up.
"Well..." I started, fishing for an excuse.
"You could be a Droog," she suggested, which was almost reverse psychology. "You know, with the bowler and the fake eyelashes on one eye."
"No way! Everyone's going to be in Clockwork Orange outfits. That's way too popular! That's like dressing like Marilyn Monroe." It sent me on a mission to do better than that. I looked around my room for anything I could use to make a real costume, and only one thing popped out: My Real Tree Hardwoods camouflage pants with patented Scent Lock to mask my human scent from white-tailed bucks.

Three winters ago, I bought a Real Tree Hardwoods hooded coat from Dick's Sporting Goods for $40. It was the warmest coat I had ever owned, without looking especially bulky or furry. It was stolen after that winter [understandably!] and my family surprised me with a new one the next winter, which was a dark, night-hunting print. Owen stole me a Coors Light pin from a vintage store on Grand St for me to garnish it with. Soon after that, I bought my first union suit [which unfortunately doesn't have an ass-flap], and then a pair of L.L. Bean "Bean Boots," which have a lifetime guarantee on them.

The coats had started to get me in trouble. Once I was on the LIRR, Roslyn-bound, and one of two old men in suits said, "Real Tree Hardwoods!" as I walked past to find a seat. At the time, I wasn't actually aware that my coat was of the official brand of heavily-camouflaged hunters throughout Appalachia.
"You hunt?" the man asked.
"Oh no, I just bought this coat because I think it's funny." And our conversation promptly ended.

Another time, when I was dating my second boyfriend who lived on Staten Island [but the first to have been raised in Southern Maine], I was taking a shuttle bus to the Staten Island ferry. It was early October, and I was wearing the night-hunting coat, and I was asked by a guy on the bus if I was getting ready for Turkey season.
"No - no! I'm a vegetarian. But does Turkey season run until Thanksgiving?"
Turkey season ends in early November, apparently. I didn't hear anything else from that guy.


Over this past summer, no longer owning any hunting jackets, I went to Maine every two weeks for a week to see my second [and favorite!!] boyfriend from Southern Maine.
One after- noon, while he was at work, his mother and I went to the enormous L.L. Bean store, which has a two-story-tall Bean Boot in front of it. I looked through the boots there, and noted that they had discontinued the design of boots I have, which have a big buckle across the tops [v feminine]. Soon, I was in their hunting section.

It was like a candy store, or those times that my dad would take me to Toys R Us; Toys R Us stores have ugly, warehouse ceilings, and really poor florescent lights, which I only realized when I was in late-middle school. Up until then, I had been too entranced to look beyond the shelves.

When I asked for assistance finding the smallest size of the Real Tree Hardwoods-print Scent Lock long johns [complete with dick hole], the sales associate asked if I was getting ready for Buck Season.
"No, er..." I began, honestly, "I just like them!"
In the end, I bought the Scent Lock pants, a XXXL Real Tree Hardwoods t-shirt with pocket that I posted about earlier, and a pack of Gum-O-Flague in apple flavor, which masks the human scent coming from my mouth. For a while, I debated getting a hunting DVD, something with the most live kills ever recorded and the Guinness record for most children holding guns at a single time, something we could make a drinking game out of, but I didn't want to risk being broken up with.

I paired all of my gear with a set of binoculars that my dad uses to watch soccer players' facial expressions, the most masculine hat in the history of Patricia Fields, and the enormous [fake] antler necklace that Colby made me for my birthday and later had signed by the members of Deerhoof and Bradford Cox of Deerhunter. Robbie Wildes and his sisters and I went to the Standard to drink and I got home by 2.