Going on a Bear Hunt?!

This was my conversation not too long ago with my husband when discussing essentials for the expedition rapidly approaching in T-minus two weeks...

Me: What about a knife for me? One that cuts/dices/opens cans and can be at my side in a flick-of-a-wrist?

Him: Ya, you'll have that. You'll also need to bring a shotgun.

Me: A shotgun? Why in the world would I marry such a big, strong, gun-toting-westerner if I needed to be the one carrying the shotgun? I am proud to hand that task over to you.

Him: Well, that's OK but what happens when I'm miles under the water and a bear comes into camp looking for food?

Me: Can't I just point him in your direction and say, "See that big guy, there in the wet suit? He's the one you want!"

Him: Ha!

Me: No, really is this just one of those things where you say something like, "You know you really should learn to shoot my bow. What if the world ends tomorrow and your only option for food for you and the baby is with a bow and arrow?" Is this one of those situations? Cause if it is, I'll gladly take my chances.

Him: I wish I were joking.

And that was it. Sent me straight into a massive panic. That night (not surprisingly) I had numerous nightmares about altercations with large animals as I fought to protect my baby bear cub. That and the phrase, "Don't let the dingos eat your baby!" was set on a continuous reel running through my head for hours.

Needless to say, as we count down the hours I'm teetering on the nervous side and slowly crawling to the excited side. We'll see if we survive. We'll see if we never come home. That's the one catchphrase that has me in a bit of a panic..."We'll see".

I guess we will, I guess we will.