Redneck Problems

I love my redneck boyfriend, I really do.  He's the light of my life and I can't imagine my life without him.  But he's also a giant pain in my ass.  Here's why:

Depending on what season it is, there is always some sort of weaponry and ammo strewn about the kitchen.  Before I'm able to cook a meal, I spend about fifteen minutes removing guns, ammo and numerous random hunting items from the kitchen.  The kitchen is also where he takes his boots off when he gets home and there is usually a landmine of four or five pair of boots on the floor that I am constantly tripping over until I throw them somewhere else in a fit of rage.  Hunting season will be coming to an end in the next few weeks.  But then it will be time for fishing and the guns in the kitchen will be replaced by fishing rods and the ammo replaced with brightly colored fishing lures with deadly hooks dangling off the end of them.

There's a gun propped in almost every corner of the house.  In case of a zombie attack, he says.

Last year when I would dig through the deep freezer for something to thaw out for dinner I would have to dodge turkey tails and legs and the occasional raccoon or beaver pelt.  This year for Christmas, his parents graciously bought him a brand new giant deep freezer and I instantly declared it a critter-free zone.  This new freezer was for FOOD ONLY.  Critters are banished to the old freezer and I meant it.  He has followed my rule for quite a while but guess what I found alongside the steaks and Girl Scout cookies when I opened the freezer last night? 

When someone calls the house phone, it's not the sound of a ringing phone you hear.  It's a quacking duck.  (yes, he still has a house phone)  It still scares the crap out of me every time.

There's a turkey decoy positioned in the perfect spot in the living room where he can sit in his spot on the couch and shoot darts at it with the blow gun.  And when he's in a particularly frisky mood, he shoots darts at me.

There are dead animals and fish on every single wall of the house.  It looks like the DNR threw up all over the walls.  It's the stuff nightmares are made of.

His newest hobby is trapping and I think it's actually pretty fun.  He does all the hard work and I ride along in the truck and occasionally shoot a raccoon in the head.  But in order to attract the critters to the traps he has to use some exceptionally stinky lure.  He makes me smell them all.  Only once did I gag and almost cry.  During trapping season he keeps them in the truck, five or six vials of them, because he's checking traps daily.  It's the most rancid, rotten, God-awful stench that I have ever had the misfortune of smelling and I demand that we take my vehicle when we have to go anywhere, lest we smell like walking death and people avoid us because we really do smell that bad.

The 80-pound hunting dog and I fight for bed space and blankets every single night. She usually wins.

So you see, there are many things that I've had to adapt and adjust to over the last few years but I think I've done a pretty good job.  I used to have an overwhelming fear of dead animals that I had to get over instantly if I wanted a second date with this kid.  I've learned and seen so many new things that I never would have been exposed to in my city-girl environment.  And I love every single second of it.  He's the complete opposite of my crazy and somehow we've made it work for two years without killing each other.  Now I just need to learn him that Mountain Dew can pyramids are not acceptable home decor.  That's going to be a tough one.