It’s the temperature of the sun here in western South Dakota — 6th day in a row of 100+ degree heat. Yeah, I know, I know, I was just bitching about snow in May, wasn’t I? Freeze us, drown us, burn us — we will survive!!
Anyway, I’m behind behind behind on a book and am trying to hunker down and get it done after taking a little time off. So consequently, I have no exciting, thought provoking blog this week — damn you Rocki for your writing excellence and me ALWAYS having to follow you 🙂
I was going to put up a “GONE FISHING” sign with a promise I’d be back in two weeks with an awesome blog to make up for it complete with even awesomer prizes — yeah yeah, I know awesomer isn’t actually a word. But…sadly, I don’t fish. In fact, I hate fish. I hate everything having to do with fish. I hate anyone thinking that I’d actually be standing in some stream somewhere, wearing those butt-ugly freakin’ waders, dangling a worm, throwing the line back and forth in silence, watching the bobber, getting eaten alive my mosquitoes, waiting for the beautiful scenery from A RIVER RUNS THROUGH IT to morph in the background and the ultimate peace to settle over me. HAH. Not even the idea of Brad Pitt cruising by could entice me into trying fly fishing. A body of water is for jet boats. Waterskiing. Swimming. NOT FISHING.
My grandfather was a serious fisherman. I have no great memories of my grandpa taking me and my cousins fishing because fishing was serious business and we noisy, demanding kids would ruin it — I also think he knew we’d tattle to grandma about his secret flask of whiskey in his tacklebox. The one time he took us to the small lake in town, I ended up casting my line right into my cousin Donna’s neck — oh, and did I hear about how girls weren’t good fisherman. And then I snapped the cheap-ass fishing pole. And it was hot and I wanted to be inside the farmhouse eating grandma’s lemon bars, not having my gross male cousins shoving minnows and worms down my back. Good times.
The point is… I know very few women who like to fish. Oh, they’ll tag along and bring a book or sewing or crossword puzzles while her significant other man sweats in the sun and proves his manhood as a hunter/gatherer/provider type. Some will even clean said fish — eww…nasty — but I can name exactly ONE woman in my life, past and present, who is fishing for fun (and I suspect her husband’s love of fly fishing had a LOT to do with it.)
So…do you like to fish? Or is it your idea of the worst time ever?
Some random winner will get a big package of those yummy gummy Swedish Fish from me, because they are the ONLY fish worth eating 🙂 ooh, and I’ll throw in gummy worms too!