The Housewife

Sharon was the best homemaker. During Georgia's long, hot Summer months, she went to the local Piggly Wiggly to get the right cream and cheese cloth and hand-pulled her own Mozzarella balls for Insalata Caprese. While the cream scalded over the flame, she boiled the organic tricolor pasta with a special secret blend of Himalayan pink salt and dead sea salt for that special flavor that none of her garden party friends could ever place. Little Sara and Timmy helped too. They gathered ingredients and made finger sandwiches for mother to cut perfectly into triangles for the gentle ladies who would state they only wanted the side salad because they were watching their figures, but secretly snag whole mouthfuls of the expertly cooked meats, not-so-absentmindedly placed next to the more socially acceptable charcuterie board.

Speaking of the cooked meats, Sharon was the one to bar-b-que them up. On the weekends and family vacations, Sharon would amuse herself up in Montana, hunting with the burly-esque men. Even in the most Parisian haute couture coats with the faux fur lining, she could hit a rabbit from 100 yards with a compound bow.

What none of Sharon's garden party friends knew, was that Sharon not only hunted, but also butchered her own kills. She knew which expert knife to choose: a de-boning blade for fish, a caping knife for small game tendons and brittle bones, and big buck knives for larger game. She could make her knives sing when they went through the air and sliced perfect flanks, shanks, chuck, and cheek.

The worst part was when Henry, her late husband came to Montana with her. Their cabin in the woods was like something out of Home and Garden Magazine. The outside was a well-kempt log cabin. The inside did much with little furnishings. The living room couch was a good love seat. But the kids didn't need to sit on the couch. It was easier to play games on the fur rug in front of the lit fireplace. Two bedrooms attached to the living room. And down a thin hallway was the kitchenette with standard stove, oven, toaster, coffee maker, and fridge/freezer combo. The reason the family chose this cabin was for the extra lateral freezer unit on the back porch with a pad lock.

Henry made innuendos about the fur rug upon inspecting the property for the first time nearly fifteen years ago. What stuck with Sharon was Henry's joke about the freezer, "You could fit a body in there! Ha!"

In her usual passive aggressive manner, she thought, well it is a hunting cabin. That is what it is meant for.

But that is not what angered Sharon about Henry coming to Montana. Sure, sure they would wake at the usual time for a good morning hunt, but then he would start in on her with his, "I know better," or ,"I heard this guy from the supply store once..."

Every time Henry would start in on her, it would be the same old story, Sharon would quietly bite her tongue as Henry would regale her with the latest hubbub of hunting stories, best equipment, and even - and this part always made her gulp twice - the best ways to gut and cook the meat of each animal.

"You know, Sharon," he would whisper in his child-like whisper, the kind their own two used to do when they hadn't quite learned that whisper doesn't mean softer voice but quieter.

"Shhh!" Sharon beckoned.

A look of bewilderment filled barely a third of his unshaven face before he continued in the same fashion.

"You know, Sharon, Jimmy at the supply store said that Harry, his best friend's cousin's nephew shot this dear one time, with nothing but a flair gun when he was out by himself in the dead of Winter. He would have frozen to death had it not been for that flair gun. One to start the fire, and one to shoot the dear. I tell ya, that's somethin'." He always ended every story with that line, "I tell ya, that's somethin'."

A few minutes went by and Sharon saw a little scrawny, but perfectly acceptable buck for her venison dip.

She aimed her bow, but just as she was steadying her sight...

"You know, Sharon..." Henry tried to whisper.

The dear cracked a branch under his feet and disappeared into the thick brush beyond.

"You know, Sharon, Jimmy at the supply store said that that guy that you watch on those hunting shows came out with a new knife set with real bone handles. I don't know how I would feel about using a bone to slice a bone. Haha."

Getting angry, Sharon was about to flip, shout, suggest they go back to the cabin, anything. Just then, she spotted a very nice sized buck to replace the one that Henry stole from her.

It would be a pleasure to kill, she grinned to herself as she slowly raised the bow and arrow into position.

"You know, Sharon..."

With that, the dear twitched in their direction, then bounded away.

Sharon turned with the bow raised high. She aimed, and released. After Henry fell, she sauntered over to his body. The arrow quivered between his twitching eyes. As he let out a sigh, his twitch stopped, the arrow rested at attention.

She pulled the arrow and washed it in a nearby stream.

In the suitcase sized cooler, she bagged and salted the chunks of meat from her latest hunt until they could be properly butchered. She added just the right amount of Himilayan pink and dead sea salt for the 250lbs of fresh meat laying in the cooler.

Back at home in the Georgia Summer sun, Sharon planned her first solo cookout dinner party. This time, she had the most meat she had ever hunted, 250lbs of perfectly butchered and seasoned flanks and chuck. For the less desirable cuts of meat, she used her meat grinder and made wonderfully seasoned burgers.

"It's too bad Henry missed this. He would have loved to see how successful you were in hunting this year," Sharon's best friend Kelly shakily suggested.

"Yes," Sharon smiled modestly, "it's too bad."