"We should go fishing sometime," I e-mailed a friend a few days ago. After buying a new rod (among other non-necessary, but really cool outdoor stuff) at Cabela's a few weeks ago, I was eager to hit the water. My friend's also a pretty good angler, and I figured I could learn a thing or two from him about fishing.
"I don't babysit when I fish," he replied a few minutes later.
Well, that was mean. No wonder we didn't make it as a couple. As I continued about my day, I started to formulate my reply e-mail.
Dear Farmboy,
Babysitting? As usual, you underestimate me. While I won't be invited to participate in any sort of fishing derby in the near future, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself while fishing...
I reached down to scratch my ankle. My fingers caught on the scar acquired last summer from a hike with decidedly inappropriate footwear. I'd gotten snagged on something as I tromped to my spot, ripping a gash in my ankle that bled for what felt like an eternity. It hurt so much, I only fished for about 20 minutes before I packed up and went home to doctor it.
I've got a new fly rod I'm eager to try out. And after the women's fly-fishing clinic I'm taking next weekend, I'm sure I'll be able to outfish you...
Let's see, what did I catch last year? A few brookies, a small rainbow, several sunfish, a shoe, a diaper and the same small rainbow I'd released just moments ago. Best to leave those statistics out.
I can bait my own hook, find my own spots to fish and generally keep myself entertained.Besides, how much trouble can a grown woman really find on the lake?
Even before I'd finished typing, images of my many mishaps flashed through my mind.Accidentally kicking the cooler and watching helplessly as lunch slipped off the bank and into the creek. Dunking my waders in the Platte, twice, in one day. Leaving my keys in the pickup that was parked upstream where we'd launched the raft. Popping the top on my sunscreen only to find in my early-morning haste I'd grabbed hair gel instead. The allergic reaction and rash from using the wrong cover as a restroom.
And that was just July.
Delete, delete, delete.
Dear Farmboy,
How does $5.50 an hour sound?
