I
grab another piece of fish from the platter, thinking of those
wives who resist letting their husbands go fishing. I’ve
always wondered why they would make such a fuss.
Just last night, I asked my husband, Paul, “Honey, are you
going fishing this weekend?”
“I don’t know. Mark’s wife won’t let him
go,” he answered.
I use to ask, “What are they doing?”
But the conversation would always go something like this:
“She’s going shopping.”
“So, is Mark going with her or taking care of the kids?”
“Neither. She just doesn’t want him to go.”
I could substitute any one of a dozen of his friends for Mark
and the conversation would almost always be the same. So I began
asking myself, “why wouldn’t they want their husbands
to go fishing?”
Sure, they always wake before the sun, and make enough noise to
wake you. Then, since you’re awake, they want you to fix
their breakfast. Oh, and while you are at it, make their coffee.
This is the one part I have always hated about fishing. But it
doesn’t take that long and soon he’s off and the lights
are out. Then I can sleep as late as I want. What’s more,
I can do that without the eternal question, “Are you ever
going to get out of bed?”
I guess the wives could be afraid they’ll drink too much
and get into a fight. While it is true they’re looking for
a fight, it’s just with a fish. Besides, Paul wouldn’t
get fallen down drunk. It interferes with the fishing.
Then of course, there are the women they might meet while fishing.
Women they already have something in common with. I can only laugh.
I’ve seen these women. Usually they’re wearing a flannel
shirt and waders with their hair tied back under a hat, sunglasses
(polarized to see the fish better), and are unwilling to spend
too much time talking. They are there to fish, not to pick up
men.
The only thing I can figure is that these wives must think that
their husbands find waders sexy.
Now me, I want my husband to go fishing, especially if I am going
shopping. For one thing, he always comes home from fishing in
a good mood. And if I believe every fish story he tells me, he
wont care how much I spent. Especially if I happened to pick up
something for his next fishing trip, like the lure he has been
drooling over for the last month.
The best part is that he’ll cook dinner that evening. For
even if he hasn’t caught a fish, he will always bring something
home for dinner.
I look across the table at the kids talking to their father about
his fishing trip, begging to go on the next one and grin. How
sad it is that Mark’s wife is slaving over a hot stove on
such a nice day.
*******
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