Last Chance Kill

Sunday I returned to Chicago from Goliad, TX, where I attended my friend's birthday party at her parents' house.

You probably haven't heard of Goliad, TX because its population is 1,975. (I know this for a fact because I proudly took a picture of the sign on the sign on the highway.) Though it boasts a a quaint town square with a handful of antique shops, it's comprised mostly of sprawling ranches, aimlessly wandering cattle and scattered hunting blinds.

Having lived in the third, fourth and eighth largest cities in the US over the past four years, this trip made me realize how far removed I've been from small town America - especially when we hit one of the only two fast food establishments in town for lunch.

As we stood in line at Whataburger (my absolute favorite burger chain), I observed that nearly 70% of its patrons were sporting one or more camouflaged garments. Camo hats, camo shirts, camo socks, camo you-name-it. After pointing this out to my friend, she mentioned that it was the end of deer hunting season, alluding to the fact that it might account for the seemingly excessive amount of camo around us.

It was then I realized that the last weekend of deer hunting season is to men in South Texas what Last Chance Sales at the end of the year are to women across the country.

I can just see the ad in the paper:

"Last Chance Kill!" with a photo of a man in head-to-toe camo toting a dead buck in a department store shopping bag, but posed like the happy women in the shopping ads with a huge grin on his face, his leg kicked up ever so slightly behind him, and a gun slung over his shoulder.

Happy Hunting, Texas!