A blind devotion to comping up with excuses

AT WEEK’S END, I will be heading out to hunt ducks with a group of guys I have hunted with for 41 years. That’s why I still can’t believe they are holding out hope that I’m going to show up early to help put cover on duck blinds.

You’d think they’d know better after all this time.

I have avoided this task for four decades, so a pattern has emerged.

But I also believe they think I’m starting to run out of good excuses as to why I can’t do this. They’re trying to wear me down.

Let me tell you, this isn’t easy. First of all, I can’t use the old family emergency excuse. I tried that once, suggesting that my grand-

ma was on her death bed – which might have worked except for the fact we’re all related to grandma.

I’ve used every excuse regarding my vehicle under the sun. I’ve claimed at least three transmission failures, five or so flat tires, two blown gaskets, and four full out fiery explosions that were the result of car chases with mysterious bad guys.

I’ve also told them at least twice I had to participate in a conference call with my boss. That was a great excuse until they remembered I’m selfemployed.

I’ve cited the death (and subsequent resurrection of a good hunting dog) on one occasion and have, at times, blamed an active volcano, a bad bout of scurvy, a flying ant infestation and the heartbreak of psoriasis.

And through it all, they acted as if they believed me and then made duck blinds far too tall for me to see out of at my end. It’s a small price to pay.

This time is different though. This is the 40th anniversary of the first excuse I ever made – getting my braces removed. (That was an easy one since I have never worn braces and they, being my buddies, never took the time to notice that small detail.)

Years of doing this, have taught me a thing or two.

For instance, it’s best to lie on a small scale. They had a hard time believing that I was invited to try out for the Canadian National Basketball Team, especially when I insisted it wasn’t the women’s team.

The funny thing is, if truth be told, covering blinds is kind of fun. You get to visit the marsh in broad daylight and watch ducks fly over on the last day before the season starts. You get to hang out with the guys and reminisce about the years gone by. You recount old hunts, catch up on what has happened to everyone in the year since we last met and generally be among good friends.

Yet, I feel that my tradition is equally important – and, if I don’t do it, who will?

In any case, I feel like the 40th should be something special. Right now, I’m trying to decide whether I should blame my showing up right at dinner on a UFO encounter and alien abduction or me deciding to spend the afternoon mowing the front lawn and tidying the yard. I think I will probably blame my tardiness on UFOs this year.

They know me. There’s no way they would believe the latter.