Cabela's Club

Yes, we are a member of the sacred Redneck Society of Cabela's. We worship at the shrine of the Bargain Cave. We love this stuff.

However, at Christmas time, when Club Card Bonus points are being spent in the furtherence of holiday magic, it is hard to keep a secret. These assholes report every little damn transaction. I have no secrets.

Just yesterday, George opens an envelope and asks, 'What boot dryer did you order?'. I am flabbergasted. The order went in yesterday, as in: less than 24 hours ago! Damn!

I pause... then, I am suddenly pissed at this snoopy invasive person called husband. 'It was supposed to be a Christmas gift! Maybe, you could have just pretended not to read that so I might be able to surprise you once in a while!' I purged my Cabela's wrath!

He looked at me through those stupid fucking magnifying reading glasses, which just serve to make that little hurt expression more intense, and said, 'Well, I didn't know...'

Not to be deterred, I said, 'George, it's December! Don't ask questions about the bills!' and stomped out of the kitchen.

For a long while after, we both felt kinda lousy...