the deer

 

This week I went back to the high school I graduated from to go to a defensive driving course. (Voluntary, not mandatory, although my driving record is plenty suspect.) Let's move right past the fact that it was held in my freshman homeroom classroom because I could go all nostalgic on you and we'd still be here on Wednesday. And let's also move past the fact that I got yelled at by a teacher for the first time since 1st grade because I could monologue about that until Wednesday too (and for the curious ones - I totally deserved the reprimand). Since it's Friday, and brevity and levity are always appreciated at this point of the week, let's move straight to the main point of our conversation here: The Deer. 

Now, I live in a small town. It's not like it takes 20 minutes to get to the corner store, but it's not like the corner store is open past 9pm, either. And when you live in suburbia and are taking a defensive driving course about driving in suburbia, you talk about deer. Specifically, you talk about what to do if you hit a deer. 

Unless you are in small town suburbia. In which case, you talk about what to do if you hit a deer and want to keep it. 

Because as the instructor said, if he's going to wreck your car, you might as well get a few steaks out of him.

(But only if you call the cops to have him tagged first. Then you can throw him on what's left of the roof and have at it.)

Amen.