The rain is lashing down on the ice and slush and the temps are standing just above freezing. Hamish the Corgi went belly deep into greasy puddles on the walkies. Miss Tibbit the Useless fastidiously danced along the margins of the sidewalk lakes. She was clearly disgusted. The WideEyedSpouse and I were disgusted. It is disgusting out there.

The Mighty Pathfinder hauled us and our rattling, quivered arrows and bow cases to the conservation society for archery league. Nothing good was on the radio, advertisements on most every station but the preacher man’s. It’s just a little too apocalyptic to listen to talk about a savior when we’re hurtling through traffic at light speeds in a big truck. So the flip flip flip of the wipers counterpointed the every changing melodies of bad songs and local radio ads as the Spouse rolled through the stations.

We skittered across the glaciered parking lot of the conservation society clubhouse and thumped our boots on the snow mats before throwing open the door. It was warm and bright and dry inside and full of the league members setting up bows, belting on quivers. “Hey now,” I half yelled into the room. “Hey!” came back at us.

I always set my recurve up faster than the Spouse, my gear is simpler and I guess I don’t have the eye for precision. He was tightening a sight screw and I was putzing with my stuff when Paul C., our league leader, swooped into our table space. He was holding a little manila envelope to the Spouse, “Congratulations,” he smiled. The Spouse is inherently suspicious. He didn’t take the envelope straight away. “For what?” he asked, peering out from under his Lancaster Archery Supply hat. “You won your class on one of the Sunday shoots,” Paul held the envelope closer. Matt took it, opened it, looked at the cool little winner pin. “Looks like you married a winner,” Diane said to me from the sign in counter.

Heh. That cracked me up.

So we shot our arrows. More or less ok for both of us. The Spouse’s pin gleamed on his quiver. The deer heads in the corner patiently displayed the conservation society tshirts for sale. And the rain lashed down outside. I was in the end lane against the wall and I could see it out there through the window: cold, wet, ugly.

The Spouse’s team beat my team tonight, but near the end my shooting improved. The weather didn’t and we scrambled through the rain to the Pathfinder, from the Pathfinder to the back door, and now the WideEyedHousehold is huddled on the sofa safe from the day. And you know, I married a winner. We have a quiver pin to prove it.