Lady had to know why husband was buying a can of urine
(Editor’s note: As a longtime newspaper columnist, Bobby Cleveland covered over 20 Wildlife Extravaganzas in Jackson. This story from one of the earlier shows is his favorite.)
I can’t remember the year it happened, but I know it was prior to 1995. That’s when the newspaper began an electronic archive, and the story predates that.
I darn sure can’t remember the names of the couple involved, but I will never forget the gist of the conversation between a husband and wife as the man made a purchase at a booth at the Mississippi Wildlife Extravaganza (the 28th annual Extravaganza is Aug. 1-3 at the Trade Mart in Jackson).
He had already picked out some Mossy Oak clothes, a deer grunt tube and something in a small spray can.
Said she, pointing to the can: “What’s that?”
Said he, quickly putting the product in a bag: “You don’t want to know. It’s a cover scent.”
Said she, this time louder: “What’s that? Tell me.”
Said he: “Trust me you don’t want or need to know.”
With that, she snatched the bag away from her mate and extracted the can. The expression on her face was priceless.
‘You’re buying what?’
“Fox pee! You’re buying fox pee!” she was now hollering as she read the label. “What the $#!% would you want with 100 percent fox urine? You’re crazy.”
“Now honey …” was all he could get out before her rant continued.
“Don’t take that tone,” she said. “Nothing you can say can make sense of this.”
Still, he tried: “Now honey, it’s just a small …”
She stopped him again, and changed directions: “We go to the mall, I pick up a bottle of perfume and you go nuts. We come here, you buy 100 percent fox pee. You won’t let me spend $30 for perfume, and you buy the liquid byproduct of a fox! So, how much does a can of animal pee cost?”
The husband, now horribly embarrassed and totally red-faced, decided not to answer. He turned his back, hoping the conservation, if not his wife, would just go away. She wouldn’t.
“How much?” she said. “Tell me, how much is a can of fox pee.”
The answer came from the salesman behind the counter.
“Nine bucks usually, but only $6 today,” he said. “Show special.”
The woman was stunned, but, not surprisingly, she was not speechless.
“Six bucks!” she said. “Six measly bucks. I can’t believe that. Even $9 is ridiculous. Somebody somewhere has underpriced himself. If I had the job of collecting fox pee, that bottle would be at least $1,000.”
Even her husband had to laugh.
She had to know
Those of us who had gathered around the pair were hysterical. Tears came when she removed the cap and gave the nozzle a push.
It produced a squirt, a fine but gagging mist of, well, you know…
“Oh my God!” she cried, turning in disgust to see about a dozen people turning green. “I am so sorry, really. I am sorry, but I’m married to an idiot who buys fox pee.”
With that, another woman with a tissue over her nose patted the first woman’s arm.
“My idiot buys skunk musk and doe in heat urine,” she said. “You’re getting off easy.”
I felt sorry for the guy behind the counter. It was at least an hour before the smell dissipated enough for customers to return.
The next day, when I walked past his booth, there was a sign: “Our scents are guaranteed. Please, do not open in building.”
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