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Okay, I forgot to blog yesterday…blame it on a very nice distraction. And I don’t really have any burning cause or new help(less) desk experiences to blog about today, so I’ll tell you another quick story about my internet dating journey. I’m not sure why these things always happen to me…they just do.

Now, you should know that being a farm girl, I had decided to set up a profile on a match site that catered to country folk, hoping to find someone better suited than the citified gentlemen I had been encountering. I got a “smile” one evening from a handsome gentleman who lived in Alabama and after reading his profile, decided he might be just enough “country” to suit me. So I responded that I’d be happy to correspond with him until we could see just how much common ground there was between us and since his profile claimed he was a “country boy”, I suggested he might start by telling me what made him country…my first mistake.

Apparently taking my request as a challenge, the gentleman responded that he was very country. He had pumped water from a well and hauled it by the bucketful into the house. He had lived where the only facilities were an outhouse. And he had walked the forests and fields. Then he issued a rather strong challenge to me to prove that I was really country. Now, you should know that it was about this time that I started to get an inkling that maybe there were degrees of country I wasn’t ready for…and when I laughingly read the e-mail to Tina, she howled and suggested maybe I should leave this guy to continue walking the forests and fields. But I just couldn’t leave well enough alone…oh no, I replied with enough information to make him understand just how country I truly am…my second mistake.

Next thing I know, he’s asking me to “chat” with him on Yahoo. Ok…safe enough. I go to Yahoo and add him to my contact list and almost immediately he pings in with a big Hello. So we start chatting and things are going pretty well. He’s telling me about the acreage he has in Alabama where he’s set up a private game preserve and feeds the deer and birds and such. Awwww…how sweet, I think. What a nice retirement passtime.

A few minutes into the chat, he says he’s going to share some pictures with me on Yahoo. I freeze. I’ve got a bad feeling in my gut that this isn’t going to end well. So I send him a note and ask what kind of pictures. He doesn’t respond…all I get is a Yahoo message asking if I want to accept the picture sharing. I mumble to myself that this guy had better have all his clothes on in these pictures because if he’s naked, I’m going to hunt him down on his private game preserve and relieve him of some very key body parts.

So I reluctantly “accept” the request to share and the picture pops up on my screen. For a split second, I experienced total relief as I saw him standing there smiling and leaning on his rifle…fully clothed, Thank God!!! But then I realize he’s next to a tree and there’s something large on the ground next to him, hugging the tree. I blink a few times to make sure I’m not seeing things and, yes…it’s a beaver. The biggest beaver I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s hugging the tree and it’s definitely dead. Egads! Now I’m wishing he’d been naked.

Okay, I take a breath…I’m country, I’ve seen dead before, and I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation. So I begin to type. But before I can compose my next message, another picture appears. I click on it and it opens. Now there are 3 dead beavers hugging the tree. Wow…that’s a lot of dead beavers.

So I ask him why he killed the beavers and I hit send. His response comes back and it seems perfectly reasonable to the country girl in me. Apparently, these beavers had moved onto his land and were destroying his 100 year old trees and damming up the river, cutting off the water supply. Okay, I can buy that…life’s different in rural America. So I fire back a note and ask him what he did with the dead beavers…are they edible? I’m expecting to get back some story about how he ate them and tanned the hides and made a coat out of them…you know, like in the stories we write?

Nope.

He sends me back a note saying that beavers are too hard to skin…not worth the effort.

So I ask again, “What did you do with them?”

His reply…“I cut them up and used them for coyote bait.”

Coyote bait? Why would anyone want to attract coyotes?

I’m starting to type my next question when another picture arrives. Hmmm… Okay, I open it. It’s a picture of a dead coyote. Crap! I’ve got Hannibal Lecter on the other end of a Yahoo chat line and I’m starting to hyperventilate. What the hell do I do now? There’s only one thing TO do…get the hell out of Dodge! So I make up some lame excuse why I have to run and thank him for the conversation, get off of Yahoo, and never ever answer another request to chat with the guy again.

So…the moral of the story? Be thankful for naked pictures, be wary of the degrees of country, and never show anyone your dead beaver! It freaks them out.

That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it. Hold on tight now ‘cuz we’re gonna go real, real fast.

Love ya,

Kayce

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