So, there's this young fellow I work with in the factory, he asks me last night if I hunt. We've talked about shooting (as guys will) and about the requirements for getting a Concealed Handgun License here in
Texas. Some of the more amusing or challenging aspects of carrying and shooting a pistol or rifle.
I have to say, he seemed honestly surprised that a committed shooter wasn't automatically an equally enthusiastic hunter as well.
He's a nice enough young guy, so he gave me the benefit of the doubt when I explained that hunting was just more work then I was willing to make a part of my day off. By which, I explained, the newly dead didn't magically go from blood-dripping carcass to my barbecue all by itself. It's a lot of work to field dress an animal, pack it out of the field and transport it to be properly butchered and packaged for freezing.
Even with all of that he seemed unconvinced, until I hit upon a more directly appropriate analogy to his own circumstance in life. I asked if he still liked fucking. He adamantly assured me that was very much the case. So, I asked, if he and the wife were still satisfied with having only one child and didn't want another, why would either of them want to keep on fucking?
I'll give him this, he can be stubborn as the day is long, but he's not slow on the uptake.
Like sex, shooting offers it's own reward entirely separate from any more tangible result. And unlike sex, it's considered normal to do it alone and in public all at the same time. People will still talk, of course - everybody's a critic - but unless you're a criminally bad shot, they probably won't make you listen. And if you are, I'll help them.
As for groceries, I'll go to Brookshires. There's a real nice one down the road a ways that caters to the young, upscale demographic. The ratio of young hottie's, as compared to the other stores in town, is quite remarkable.
What? I never said I didn't hunt at all!