Channeling His Inner Neanderthal

“Wait until you hear this one—you’re not going to believe it!!!!!”

The ding from my phone announced an early morning text from my friend Janey in Arizona. The excessive exclamation points betrayed her emotional state. Coffee first, I thought, grabbing an extra-large cup. This could be a doozy.

Janey isn’t one to exaggerate, but I had a hunch about the source of her exasperation.

“Ring, ring.” She picked up faster than you could say bagel.

“Thank goodness you called. I have no one else to vent to.”

“What’s going on?” I asked, trying not to choke on my blueberry muffin.

“You know how Charlie loves to hunt, right? Well, yesterday he took this he-man hobby to a whole new level!”

“What exactly does he hunt in Tucson?” I asked. I’m no expert on Arizona wildlife, but I was pretty sure you don’t shoot scorpions. Then again, what do I know? I’m the poster child for the Non–‘Pioneer Woman’—someone who thinks ‘roughing it’ means staying at a Best Western instead of the Ritz-Carlton.

Janey didn’t miss a beat.

“We have deer and bobcats, but that’s not the point. Yesterday, FedEx delivered two boxes. One was so big I couldn’t drag it inside. Both were addressed to Charlie, but hey—curiosity won. I opened the smaller one.”

“It was filled to the brim with arrows. Not your typical ones either—these were metal and looked ominous. I was so flabbergasted, I had to see what was in the larger box.”

I put down my muffin and held my breath.

Janey switched to FaceTime so I could see for myself. Inside, wrapped carefully, was a nearly three-foot-long crossbow. Yup—a crossbow. I had no idea what you’d do with something like that and jumped in with questions.

“What in heaven’s name is Charlie going to do with a crossbow? Serious cactus target practice?”

“Nope. He’s going on his annual hunting trip to Minnesota and wants to stalk deer—just like hunters of old. I think he’s channeling his inner Neanderthal. I told him cavemen didn’t use crossbows and asked if he planned to carry a spear and wear a fur loincloth. He ignored me.”

“When I asked how he planned to get this weapon through airport security, he finally paused. Clearly, not a well-thought-out plan.”

The image of Charlie running through the woods in a fur loincloth made me laugh out loud. To help Janey see the humor, I told her she wasn’t alone. I’ve coined this affliction “Overactive Neanderthal Syndrome,” or ONS. My grown grandson has it too—he shoots wild boars on a Texas range with his macho AR-15. Maybe Charlie’s just channeling his ancestors.

I’m not sure it made Janey feel better, but we both laughed—which always helps.

A week later, I called to check in. “How’s our wannabe caveman doing?”

Janey laughed. “Funny enough, the crossbow’s still in its packaging—in the garage. Charlie decided it was too big to handle and listed it on eBay. His brother’s neighbor saw the listing and clicked ‘Buy Now.’ It shipped this morning.”

“Now I’ve got a chagrined hubby who’s lost his best toy. He’ll get over it, but he’s moping.”

Cue the Interior Decorator lightbulb.

“Why not redecorate his office with a Neanderthal theme? Make it a ‘Man Cave.’ Hang a fake crossbow on the wall, add fur rugs, oversized chairs, and torchlight-style sconces. You’ll have a space worthy of Architectural Digest.”

Silence. I knew why. Janey was already online, ordering swatches and wood samples, starting her Pinterest board titled Man Cave Chic.

As of this morning, it’s already gotten thousands of views.

© 2025  Annie Sokoloff