Wherein I Resolve to Life in the City

** This is hands-down the funniest thing that has ever happened to me. I thought I was going to die.**

Brad's 24th birthday was on the 23rd of May and I wanted to do something really special for him. Brad loves to fish and all things fishing related. He usually wants a gift certificate to Bass Pro Shop but I just didn't feel like giving him another stupid gift card. And nothing says “I love you & I put a whole lot of thought and effort into your birthday present” like a gift card, right? So I decided to be extra cute and write him this poem:

A Birthday Present Dilemma

Happy birthday Brad,
You're finally 24,
We’ve been together for awhile,
But you’re still so hard to shop for.

Every time I ask,
It’s “fishing this and fishing that,
A gift certificate to Bass Pro,
Just make it out to Brad.

Or, how about a Boat?
So I can fish every single day,
We can take it to the ocean,
To the lake, or to the bay!

You can get me a new pole,
And an expensive brand new reel,
A tackle box, some bait and hooks,
I’ll be catching all our meals!”

I thought about just giving in,
And heading to Bass Pro,
And getting you that gift card,
That I know you wanted so.

But then I realized something,
What’s all this equipment for?
He should be outside fishing,
Not shopping in a store.

So as your birthday present,
It’s not a gift that you can touch,
But a fishing trip in Blue Ridge,
‘Cause I love you so very much!!

Who knew I possessed such literary talent? Impressive I know.

I had done massive amounts of research to find the best fishing trip that North America had to offer(read: booked the first place that came up on a google search for “GA weekend fishing trips”). Let’s be honest, I know NOHTING about fishing other than I get yelled at if I wear heels on a boat. So I did my best to find a good place and The Blue Ridge Mountain Cabins boasted of a “quaint log cabin perched at the edge of a fully stocked lake” (FULL of bass fish) and the use of free boats! Brad was surely going to be impressed.

We left for Blue Ridge, North Georgia, as promised, looking forward to a quite, romantic weekend getaway. Well, that’s what I was looking forward to; Brad was looking forward to fishing, and lots of it. After arriving on Friday we decided to take advantage of the "stocked lake" with "free boats" and walked down for our first fishing trip of the weekend! When we got to the lake we found out that, in reality, the lake was a very small pond. And the boats were canoes. But we decided to make the best of it and we both very carefully got into the canoe and began to row in a tiny circle since the diameter of the pond was all of 3 feet. So image the two of us in a tiny canoe with 15 fishing poles, bait and tackle, rowing in a circle and trying to fish. As you can probably imagine we didn’t catch a thing; in addition to the ridiculous conditions it seems that the last time the "stocked POND" was stocked was June 12th, 1973. I’m sure at this point Brad began to question our relationship and if it was really going to work out between us. So we went back to the Cabin empty handed and defeated.

The next day we decided to go "real fishing" on Lake Blue Ridge. So we gathered enough fishing equipment to open a Bass Pro Shop all our own, and headed to the lake. When we arrived Brad strapped a fishing-fanny-pack around his waist (control yourselves, ladies… He’s taken.), grabbed a HUGE green tackle box, 14,937 fishing poles, a bucket and a few tubs of bait and he trekked down to the base of the damn. I grabbed my lip gloss and cell phone and gingerly navigated the terrain in my high heels. Once I finally made it down to the water Brad got out his award winning $350 fishing pole along the shiniest, coolest lure you have ever seen and he spread out all the special fishing accessories to go along with it. He then proceeded to give me a $20 Zebco pole that he got from the kids department at Wall-Mart, an 89 cent can of corn and told me to "have at it".

Within the first 10 minutes I had already caught a fish and Mr. Greatest-Fisherman-That-Ever-Lived hadn’t even gotten a bite. It was at that point when he leaned over and told me to "gimme that damn corn."

After all was said and done that day we came home empty-handed and instead of cooking all the fish we were supposed to have caught we went to KFC and brought home a bucket of fried chicken and decided to relax in our quite little log cabin.

After eating dinner we were sitting downstairs in the den watching TV. It was pretty late and I started to get a little freaked out. It didn’t help that we were watching an episode of Criminal Minds where they kill a family that’s camping. I convince myself that some flannel-wearing mountain man wants to hack me up and make a stew out of me. I was starting to stress out and then I heard a sound in the kitchen. I was really getting flustered and told Brad to go check it out. He told me that I was crazy, and then reluctantly went up, in his boxers, and checked out the noise. (Way to intimidate the killer, Brad)

A few seconds later he came back downstairs and assured me it was nothing. I calmed down and decided it must have been “nature” making the sound. Then about 10 minutes later I was sure that I had heard a scratching sound in the kitchen again. At this point I was really scared, and Brad just told me that I was being paranoid and we started to argue back and forth:

"Brad, shhh.. Listen!..... I swear I heard something scratching around, I am NOT crazy, go check it out!!"

"Rebekah, honestly, what do you think it is? Do you really think that there is a lumberjack in our freakin cabin?"

"No, but there might be an animal, just go look."

"You think there is a raccoon or something? There is nothing in this cabin but me and a crazy woman!"

"I Swear to God Brad, if there is an animal in this cabin...If a freaking opossum hangs down over this wall I will never...."

And right at that very moment a FREEKING FLYING SQUIRREL glides about 2 inches from my right shoulder and lands on the wall a foot in front of my face, so help me God I am not making this up. The squirrel twisted its head back, stared me down with its creepy bug eyes and started screeching. I have never jumped so high in my life. I literally crawled on top of Brad’s head and started screaming Bloody Murder at the top of my lungs. Brad was laughing so hard he almost couldn’t breathe and the squirrel starts flying around the cabin screeching, and all hell just breaks loose.

The ceilings were really high so to get Satan’s Spawn the Flying Squirrel out of the house Brad had to grab a fishing pole, MY ZEBCO FISHING POLE mind you, and open the front door and to try and shoo him out of the cabin. So he starts chasing the squirrel around with MY fishing pole and I am in the den standing on the couch holding a shoe in one hand and the remote control in the other having a full blown panic attack. It would have been easier for Brad to get the squirrel out if he hadn’t been laughing so damn hard, but he finally went out a crack in the roof. A CRACK IN THE ROOF, people! That totally did not make me feel better since now I know that he can come back in through that same freakin hole anytime he wants!

Oh my stars.

The moral of this story, ladies and gentlemen, is that I, Rebekah Jane Samford, am not, nor will I ever be, "outdoorsy." And this is a perfect example of why. This crap ONLY happens to me! And next time it's going to be a freakin bear, I just know it.

I hope that all of you had a fun, safe and flying-squirrel-free Memorial Day!


  1. I join you in your hatred of the outdoors. Also, the only thing missing from the poem was rhyming "Brad" with "rad." And did you know you can buy some sort of flying squirel as a pet in Lenox now?

  2. Funiest day of my life! Best birthday present ever (the squirrel that is).