<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Did I lose you at “bear tag”? Apologies. When you are an innie married to an outie, the learning curve is impressive and at times overwhelming. Having a “tag” on any animal means you are legally allowed to hunt that animal. Tags are the reason I once had deer heart marinating in wine in my fridge. Tags are why my cutting board was once awash in bits of deer liver and blood. Tags are why I have eaten deer meatballs, deer tenderloin, deer heart. I have also eaten grouse, pheasant, and squirrel, which don’t require tags, just a lot of salt and pepper and maybe some bacon.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I know.\u00a0Me.\u00a0The\u00a0animal lover. The two are not as mutually exclusive as you may think.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n The outie life, before I married my outie, was as foreign a concept to me as\u00a0Star Trek<\/em>\u00a0is to the United States Post Office – more on that later – and therefore required me to become steeped in the ways of an outdoorsman. To become familiar with notions never heretofore considered. To occasionally immerse myself in outie culture.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Being married to an outie involves a lot of outdoor time. That’s an unexpected side effect and is not my favorite. Aside from unwanted time in the\u00a0sun, being outside means exposure to a lot of what I like to call Eww-y Things. Eww-y Things encompasses anything serpentine – snakes, worms, some sticks. Eww-y Things also includes bugs. Did you know that there are flies that\u00a0bite<\/em>? I didn’t, until I married an outie. And arachnids. I appreciate all they do vis a vis the bugs, but do they have to look so…so…spidery<\/em>?<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Being outside also means getting hot. Or getting cold. There’s limited WiFi outside. There are no bathrooms. Not the good kind, anyway. You know, the kind with actual plumbing and toilet paper and soap.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Being outside at night is no better. There are mosquito coils, to repel the mosquitoes. There are bat boxes, which attract – ugh<\/em>\u00a0– bats in case the mosquito coils fail. And when something rustles in the underbrush near your left hand – and something\u00a0always<\/em>\u00a0rustles in the underbrush near your left hand – you don’t have the benefit of (harmful) sunlight to determine if it’s a bear or a snake or a leopard or what.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n That, for the record, never happens inside.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n You know what does happen inside? Packages arrive that I, the innie, eagerly tear into thinking it is my latest Amazon order and instead discover it is vials of doe urine.<\/p>\n I was just corrected that Don no longer uses doe urine because of the risk of chronic wasting disease to the deer, then received a lecture on prion diseases which was kind of a waste because of my aforementioned career in neurosurgery.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Prion diseases affect the brain. Now you have a fun conversation starter for your next party.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Prior to being married to an outie, I refrained from anything as unfitting as poking a worm onto a hook or examining scat to identify the animal of origin. I couldn’t even define the word\u00a0scat\u00a0<\/em>and I really didn’t care about the animal of origin.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Scat is animal poop, for you innies out there.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The innie\/outie marriage means two very different philosophies commingle under a single roof. I become apoplectic when my cable cuts out. I head right for my cable company’s app to right the injustice committed against me. Don becomes apoplectic when public land is threatened. He heads right for the computer to contact our congressman and right the injustice committed against the environment.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Entertainment Weekly<\/em>\u00a0is my favorite periodical. When the Summer Movie Preview Issue is delivered, I methodically plot movie premieres on the family calendar, along with notations as to who plans on attending.\u00a0Fair Chase<\/em>\u00a0is (one of) Don’s periodicals of choice. Its contents are carefully applied to planned outdoor expeditions. Its contents are also not pornographic, despite what the title may imply and I sometimes think I would almost prefer.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n When it is time to give our children gifts, I hit the toy store for the comfortably familiar plastic toys, complete with formaldehyde and hormone disruptors. Don buys our children plush animals – replicas of endangered animals who receive a much needed\u00a0financial boost<\/a>\u00a0because of Don’s purchase.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I don’t get it. We need more stuffed animals in our house like the world needs another Spider-Man movie.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n What state has our discordant marriage left our children? Well, I’m proud to say that each has a favorite superhero and can navigate Netflix with ease. My singular failure as a parent is that both children prefer\u00a0Star Wars<\/em>\u00a0to\u00a0Star Trek<\/em>. I may start a support group to help with the devastation I feel daily.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Devastation, that is, until my son asks to use his Peeing Tree – exactly what you think it is – and my daughter tells her teacher her favorite experience from the summer was shooting and eating a squirrel with her dad. Then the\u00a0Trek<\/em>\u00a0hate doesn’t seem so bad, but\u00a0I think if they said and did those things while wearing their\u00a0Star Wars<\/em>\u00a0tee shirts I would probably fall to the ground crying and vomiting like Scarlett O’Hara after the lone vegetable root destroys her composure and intestines.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n If only she’d been inside.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I’m sure you are by now thinking that maybe I have some foibles that Don must suffer, his own innie\/outie battle. I do not have any foibles. Just last night I was emphasizing to Don the many benefits of living with me.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Don never has to worry about me usurping his role as the torchbearer on our outdoor excursions with our children. Outside cannot be controlled. Inside can be controlled, and I do an exemplary job. Living in my house means lost possessions are either put back where they belong – you’re welcome – or thrown away because I deemed them no longer needed – you’re welcome again.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I clear dishes the moment a meal is finished because there is no reason to linger over a completed meal – the TV is anxiously awaiting your company. I organize belongings, and I’ll just bet my family never even knew their belongings needed organizing until I stepped up. Well, now their belongings are beautifully arranged and all superfluous items – as determined by me – are gone.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Everything in my world sits at right angles. Right angles are glorious. Right angles are one of the sole benefits of geometry. Right angles make the world pretty. When Don comes home, his mail is sitting on the dining room table, squared at a lovely right angle to the table’s edge. When he is done perusing his correspondence, I stand at the ready to throw everything away. Junk mail, catalogs, subscription magazines, bills \u00a0– all tidily tossed into the recycling. I’m a dream.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I don’t just\u00a0go\u00a0<\/em>places,\u00a0do<\/em>\u00a0things. All activities – all – require careful research. I study a few books, assess culinary circumstances, pack sunscreen, plan an appropriate – and appropriately cute – outfit. Maybe attend an accredited college course or online seminar. This is equally true whether the activity is a movie –\u00a0Entertainment Weekly<\/em>, remember? – or a trip to Wyoming.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Oh, that the rest of the world was like me! This week, at the post office, I purchased the new Star Trek<\/em>\u00a0stamps. I have waited six long months for them to be issued. They’re finally here. Everyone will be getting Christmas cards with communicator badges and Mr. Spock silhouettes decorating the postage corner of the envelope. Oh happy day.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Until the lady at the counter asked if I needed the stamps for a\u00a0Star Wars\u00a0<\/em>party. A\u00a0Star Wars<\/em>\u00a0party? A\u00a0Star WARS<\/em>\u00a0party?! Who buys\u00a0Star TREK\u00a0<\/em>stamps for a\u00a0Star WARS<\/em>\u00a0party? I don’t see any\u00a0Star Wars <\/em>stamps being issued by the post office. And do you know why? DO YOU? Because\u00a0Star Trek<\/em>\u00a0has been around for 50 years, that’s why. Because every\u00a0Star Trek<\/em>\u00a0incarnation has been awesome while some of the\u00a0Star Wars<\/em>\u00a0incarnations have Jar Jar Binks.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I bemoaned the postal worker’s confusion to Don. Hadn’t she paid attention during the New Stamp Issuance Inservice? I really feel like the post office should give primers for each new stamp subject. Shouldn’t the postal workers know the details of what they are selling to the American public?<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Don gently pointed out that the post office probably doesn’t hold an inservice every time there’s a new stamp issued. He suggested I write a letter to the Postmaster General detailing the horrors of my postal visit. Which requires a computer. And WiFi.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Definitely an indoor activity.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Supplies<\/strong><\/p>\n Here are some of the best outdoor media and supplies. In case you – like me – are an innie married to an outie and would like to better navigate the outdoor world.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Cabela’s<\/a>. This outdoor outfitter has everything you need to insulate yourself when you are forced outdoors. The best item on their website is the\u00a0Cabela’s Multi-Tool<\/a>. I keep one in every purse and glove compartment. I have used it to remove tags, splinters, and self-doubt.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n![\"\"](\"http:\/\/wendirank.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/03\/Screen-Shot-2021-03-02-at-10.12.41-AM-236x300.png\")
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