Dead Bears, Bingo Wings and Sleeping With an Older Woman

Last week a friend of mine emailed to say that he had an extra dead bear and did I want it.  There are two kinds of bears I like, those who live in the woods and avoid people and dead ones.  Of course I said yes. 

To explain, I have had an issue with bears ever since I took up beekeeping.  Bears destroy beehives and eat bees. For the record, they usually don’t eat honey. Winnie the Pooh eats Huny, real bears don’t.

The real problem is the Virginia Game Department loves bears. They love live bears. If they were honest they would admit they feel exactly like I do.  A bear in the woods is great, one in their yards tearing up their stuff and killing THEIR animals would be a problem. It just isn’t a problem for them when a bear tears up OUR stuff.

End of Sermon and back to my new bear.

There are two kinds of dead bears I like.  They are those that are freshly dead, (they are delicious) and those that have been turned into rugs. To go off on another tangent, I have a theory that most if not all men have a fantasy that involves a bearskin rug. On the other hand, I have also learned that most if not all women do not share this fantasy.

I did not do this research personally. I discussed it with my Bride Management and she said, “Ick.” The remainder of the research was second-hand.  I did meet one guy who said he had a friend who insisted on showing him a “picture of his wife, naked, lying on a bearskin rug.”

After multiple refusals, he finally looked at the picture. The wife, age six months, was indeed naked, on a bearskin rug.

But, back to my new dead bear.

My friend had killed this bear in Canada several decades ago and had it mounted, i.e. stuffed. I don’t know what they stuffed them with back then but any bear that isn’t stuffed with my bees is better than one that is. This friend has also killed and stuffed about a dozen more bears. He has a room that is a sleuth or sloth, which is the correct name for a herd of bears.

This is unlike most beekeepers who are forced to follow the “Four S” rule.  They SEE, SHOOT, SHOVEL AND SHUT UP.

Anyway, I picked up my new dead bear and he rode home with me on the back of the truck. We got some strange looks, especially when Management got home. It was amazing how much the ride home improved his appearance. The wind blew off the dust and he looked like he had just left the beauty salon after a blow dry.

I named him Justin Trudeau. He is a pretty boy from Canada, he has done a lot of unnecessary damage, he has cost other people money AND he was self-absorbed and didn’t care about anything except himself. I thought it was the perfect name.

Oddly, Management didn’t have a problem with him.  Hmm, maybe I’ll pull out my rug again….

If you don’t know what Bingo Wings are, refer to an old, 20 years or older cartoon, the character Jeremy (I’m trying to give credit but can’t remember the name of the cartoon) told his mom she had “Bingo Wings.” Then he explained, “When an older woman wins at Bingo she screams and waves her arms. The sagging skin under her arms flaps. These are “Bingo Wings.”

There is a Latin Term, “In Vino Veritas,” which means, in wine there is truth.  A drunk will tell things they would never say sober. Believe them.  I am going to add another term. “In Filius Veritas,” which roughly translates to “Brat’s tell the truth.”

SO, yesterday (Father’s Day) my five-year-old Grand-Brat said, “Faux Pa, you’re all flappy.”  I have been working on losing weight and am doing well.  I am also getting older.  In fact, I am again exactly the same weight as I was when Management and I were married 38 years ago. The only issue is the distribution is different. 

Thank you, Grand-Brat, for pointing out the obvious.  I am glad you see things and report them honestly. NOW let’s work on kindness and discretion.                                                                                               

I have just noticed the oddest thing.  All of my life I have seen and heard of men trading in their wives for a woman who is half the age of the original.  My question for them is, why?

In my limited experience, it just keeps getting better. Every day I wake up with Management, who is the oldest woman I have ever slept with.  And every day waking up with her is the highlight of my day.

I feel sorry for those guys who trade in their wives. Management is like a vintage wine or an antique truck or fine furniture. She is more precious, sweeter, more desirable and more fun with each passing day.

She does still have a problem with my bearskin rug. Maybe I’ll try to work on that.