I’m no fisherman

As Bulgingsnake and our little “Cockroach” prepare for their fishing adventure later this evening I am reminded of my most epic fishing experiences — and by epic, I mean… ridiculous.

I admit, I’m no professional fisherman — actually, I’m no hobbyist either. I’m not a fisherman, at all. I was born and raised a city kid. The closest I came to fish was the frozen food section of Shoprite. When we moved to southwest Florida I dated a redneck who thought that was absurd and after a very long night of drinking he insisted he take me to fish — in stripper heels and a mini skirt. That was my intro to fishing — literally all I know about the sport I learned with 4 shots of liquid cocaine in me… so I’m sure that makes me highly qualified. That’s not the point….

Anyway… So, the next day he insisted we go fishing sober. I threw myself together (another mini skirt was involved, but no heels… flip flops), and we headed to the bait shop. He asked me to go in and get a bucket of shrimp.  I walk in and there is a gaggle (or whatever the plural for rednecks is) of dirty old men huddled around the counter practically blowing the bait shop owner for his attention… until they notice that I was standing there. Now I had an audience to be a complete idiot.

Owner: What can I get you little lady?

Me: I need a bucket of shrimp.

Owner: That’s it?

Me: Yup

(He hands me a bucket filled with these gross little creatures in it. Apparently I make a confused face.)

Owner: What’s wrong?

Me: I wanted a bucket of shrimp. What is this?

Owner: That’s shrimp.

Me: I thought shrimp were white and pink? these are like… gross.

Owner: (laughing hysterically with all the other hillbillies) SHRIMP ARE ONLY PINK WHEN YOU COOK THEM!

…. it wasn’t my finest moment.

I hope my children are better fisherman than I am.