While the locals can overlook his history of kilt-wearing (though they insist on calling them skirts) and even his eyebrow-cocking flirtations with eyeliner and lipstick, one thing they cannot abide is a squeamish aversion to shooting small, peaceful, and otherwise unarmed animals. You can only parade your Dodge Ram through town so many times before folks begin to wonder thy there aren't any deer carcasses stacked in the back. And one day, under interrogation by the mothers of Clara's schoolmates, McGregor caved.
"If you wanna go huntin' anytime, my husband'll take you," the moms kept saying.
Finally McGregor asked, "Well, what is it they shoot?"
Big mistake. Heads turned, eyeballs bulged, jaws dropped. Finally one woman piped up and ran down the laundry list of animals that carry bull's-eyes on their backs in 'Bama.
"Basically," McGregor remembers, "it was everything that breathes that's not a human being."
Even squirrels were on the menu, it seems.
"I can understand deer, because you actually kind of hunt them down," he says. "But I was like, 'Why do you wanna shoot squirrels?"
The mothers thought for awhile until one chimed in, "Well, it's good exercise, because you're walking up and down hills."
Try as he might to tame his sharp tongue, McGregor couldn't help himself.
"So's running around the park," he blurted.
And with that, McGregor's membership in the Good Old Boys' Club was officially revoked.