by Myra Maines
A "macho-man" advice column for ordinary readers.
|- Dear Hunter, I love your column! Unfortunately, my girlfriend hates it, and arguments have intensified to the point where she's given the ultimatum, either you or her. Of course, Hunter, I told her she meant everything to me (what else?). And for a few months now I have played things right - pledged my "undying" loyalty while secretly reading your column on the side. I figured what she didn't know wouldn't hurt us...Problem is, the other day Virginia walked into the living room WHILE I was reading you - she caught me in the act - and before I could finish she ran out the door. Afterwards, I pleaded with her, but she either didn't hear me or simply ignored my call, and I missed her. I missed her, Hunter! Now she's gone! gone! gone! What should I do?
- Dear Missed Her, you have two options: you can sit tight and wait for winds to shift or track that doe down. If you sit tight, bigger game may come along and you could well bag a BETTER story to share brewskies over. But if you choose to track this wounded creature, beware the Jabberwock, my son - the jaws that bite, the claws that catch! Do you "read" me, Missed Her?...Sometimes it's better to remain in the stand than trod miles down a bloodied trail that will never reap a harvest. (Gut shot is agonizing for both, hunter and victim.) Remember, there's lots of game in the forest but there's only one Dear Hunter! Stick to your guns and keep the chamber loaded...And remember to keep your safety on, too.
Dear Hunter, I have a beautiful wife that I love dearly. We met on safari years ago and have enjoyed wedded bliss for a decade now. Unfortunately, a recent hunting accident left Selma paralyzed, and she is unable to hunt anymore...Here's the thing: now, when I go on a hunt, Selma must stay home alone - sometimes for days - and it is very hard for her. Sometimes she cries. So, in an effort to relieve this loneliness, I bought Selma a kitten, which she has grown attached to - named the animal and everything. My problem, Hunter, is that, after enjoying a long hunting trip, I've returned home to discover that cleaning that damn cat's pan has been left ENTIRELY up to me. Selma is unable to care for the beast! But I don't have the heart to take it away. So, what should I do, big guy? -- Barnie
- One word for you, Barnie - taxidermy. It's realistic - much like a pet - yet tidier. Simply dust that little kitty off once a month and return it to the mantel. That's all it takes! And unlike photos that yellow and fade, memories are preserved through this process in a way that Kodak cannot match. So, introduce your wife to taxidermy, Barn. (USE this wisdom, friend.) You will find that taxidermy will enable everyone - for generations - to enjoy Fluffy's company. It's a very unselfish extension of your love for Selma that will reach out and touch everyone, especially during future hunting trips.
Dear Hunter, I've always been slight of build. I wear thick glasses and strangely plaid sweaters. I call my mother daily. And usually I whine...However, I've recently noticed things [I'm doing] that are not in character. By this, I mean they're not in sync with "me." Your column, Mr. Hunter, has awakened something within - an animal, methinks...For instance, I've been doing my own laundry lately. Where did that come from? It worries mama. And something primal keeps urging me to grunt rebelliously in the quiet section at the library. The other day I actually asked a child to pull my finger. What will be next? Girlfriends???...Still, I can't put your column down. I'm drawn to it, Mr. Hunter, like a neanderthal to his cave. And I'm not sure I'm ready for darkness. I mean, I think I'm afraid of "macho," Hunter. Do you know what I mean? I just can't do this.
- Wimpy, stop fighting the internal brute that's pleading for those monthly cycles to stop! (I mean that in a nice way.) Become a MAN, for gawdsake! My gut says "macho" isn't your problem...Now, by that, I don't mean for you to just dive in. A wimp like you should take macho slowly...Begin by drinking a raw egg. If that stays down, move on to uncooked meat. And quit the library immediately. If it don't have pictures, it ain't worth reading. And when you've mastered manly ignorance, try getting lost without stopping to ask for directions...Soon you will be hunting, Wimpy. And fishing. You will fish and hunt, and hunt and fish (just like Fleming Way). And you will drink beer with loud men who brag. And you will make up stories about college co-eds. And you will stop blubbering about fear. Do you hear me!? Now suck it up, little guy! It's time to fish and hunt, and hunt and fish, and belch and fart, and all that manly stuff. Be normal, Wimpy, like me...Now, pull my finger!