In the name of a good story

by Katie on September 27, 2010

So, at the end of a very long hunt, Brandon killed an elk last week. Not the elk he was looking for, mind you, but it’ll get us through the winter anyway. And I don’t have to worry about a second giant set of horns being displayed prominently in our home. These might get demoted all the way to the new laundry room.

Anyway, in the process of killing this elk, Brandon suffered through a swarm of mosquitoes. When he returned a day later, his entire shoulder area was still covered with giant, welpy mosquito bites.

So what does he do?

Asks me to count them.

Oh yes he did.

For some reason, at the time, this didn’t strike me as weird at all. Maybe I’m just used to odd requests like this coming from my husband. But I went about my counting.

“…21, 22, 23, …why am I doing this?”

Because it’ll make a better story.”

What? You have to have an accurate count of your mosquito bites for your hunting story?”

“Well, yeah. If you went through a swarm like that, you’d want to count them too.”

“…72 and 73. And that’s it.”

“Whoa! How many did you think there were going to be?”

“I would have guessed 50-something before I started.”

“Really? I thought it was only going to be 30. That’s pretty impressive.”

So, if you do happen to be the recipient of the full blown hunting story, you can rest assured that when he mentions the mosquito bites, he was not in any way exaggerating. Unless he inflates the number from 73.

[Then feel free to call him out. Because if he’s not going to report accurately, why did I spend 37 seconds of my life counting them to begin with, right?]

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