I went fishing with my husband and daughter this weekend. Rephrase. I rode along with my husband two hours into the mountains so that he and our daughter could fish. TWO HOURS, people. Just to fish. When we had spent as much money on gas as a cool pair of shoes, we finally arrived at the place where my husband deemed it a good fishing spot. We donned our gear (meaning for me, my chair and my book) and hiked down to the river. Five minutes after I had set up my chair, we needed to move. We walked a little further down the river to a seemingly better spot (the view, people, the VIEW was amazing). We stayed there for about twenty minutes … and guess what? We needed to move again. Apparently, my husband cannot stay in one spot when he fishes.
When I was a kid, my dad lived on a lake. I would fish from the backyard and it was quiet, serene. This is what I thought fishing with my family would be like. Instead, we pulled off the highway to find this spot. I imagined that we would stay in one general spot and I would be able to relax and read. Wrong. When Dave decided to move from this spot, I decided to walk back to the car to wait for them there – it was starting to drizzle (which by the way, Dave says is the best time to fish – blech) and I didn’t want to be caught in what could have very easily ended up in a torrential downpour according to the forecasters. I ended up setting up camp along side the river and reading while I waited for the fishers to come back from their adventure.
They came back to the car after awhile and we started driving. Home? Nope. To another fishing hole. Two hours later we were on our way home. I got a lot of reading done.
Lesson learned. I don’t need to go on these trips with my husband and our daughter. It’s great father-daughter bonding time and it’s sexy when Dave wants to share something he loves with her.
PS – May 26th and it was sleeting on the drive home. Icy rain, people – in May.
