Last word from the ladies
I
N the last issue of SKI-BOAT I wrote about “dealing with the stink”. I truly thought that after that little rant my beau would have realised how frustrating the stink can be to a person. I have to give him a wee amount of credit where it is due, though, instead of dumping his clothes next to the washing machine; he now dumps them outside my kitchen door so at least our house no longer smells like sardines that have been left in the sun all day to ferment. Another small bonus is that it’s now marlin and dolly season so I don’t have to worry about him climbing into bed stinking of snot, but at the rate this month has flown by, winter will soon be on our doorstep and I’ll be swatting him on the head with my paddle again, encouraging him to shower. Lucky for him my paddle is made of carbon and is pretty light, but these little arms know how to swing a paddle. Despite him leaving his dirty clothes outside, I still have to endure a sweaty, stinky beau snoring on my lovely couch with it’s fresh fluffy cushions and my favourite teal couch blanket, with his blood-smeared feet up on the arm rest. It’s truly a sight to behold. I’m not going to hold my breath, but I am hoping darling Beau reads this article and it finally sinks in that there are some habits I could do without… Another of his bad habits is leaving things lying around for months on end. I kid you not — after my darling’s extended fishing trip last year his precious “babies” remained coddled in my favourite teal blankie on my lounge f loor for a whole two months! Whenever I tried to move them I was promised that they would be cleared the following day, but — surprise, surprise — that never happened. Thank heavens for house guests and their wee little kids with tender-toes-that-may-notbe-pierced, otherwise those lures and my blankie would most probably still be on my lounge floor and my amazing domestic would still be polishing them and treating them like royalty. Now my season — triathlon season — is fast approaching and I’m hoping to do a triathlon next month, but my bike light (aka his new navigation light) still has not been returned! And yet every time I head out my darling reminds me to “stay safe” — the irony is obviously lost on him! I must admit I don’t often make new year’s resolutions, but after writing my last Rapala Lip I decided it was impera-
90 • SKI-BOAT March/April 2016
DEALING
WITH THE
RAPALA LIP
STINK THE SAGA CONTINUES
tive for my sanity — the little that remains — so here are my resolutions... • #resolution1 — beau showers before getting into bed or sleeping on “my couch” after a day’s fishing. • #resolution2 — label all my sports gear. I might even have to draw a big yellow line down the centre of the garage — left side for wifey’s gear and right side for hubby’s gear. • #resolution3 — tr y to keep my Rapala Lip in check. I recently came across a post on Facebook which gave the following definition for fish: “Fish n. pl. fish or fish-es — An animal that grows the fastest between the time it’s caught and the time the fisherman describes it to his friends.” That really rang true for me. Men always say that women can talk nonsense and gossip, but for those ladies out there who are not married or dating a fisherman, let me give you some free advice: Don’t believe a word that comes out of a fisherman’s mouth when it comes to “size”. Beau and I share an office and I often overhear him chatting to his buddies about fish that have been caught and I cannot believe the variations his buddies come up with! I may be biased but I really think my beau is pretty honest about what he has caught — his friends not so much! It’s funny how men always need to justify size and elaborate on it, especially once a few beers have gone down the hatch. Recently Beau got a call from a friend who is renowned for telling fan-
tastic camp-fire stories, and who had been living abroad at one of those fabulous places where sailfish are tagged and released in abundance. The call lasted a good hour and we got every last detail of one day in particular on which 15 sailfish were caught. Later that day I went onto Facebook and, to my amusement, I stumbled across a picture that boasted a mere ten sailfish flags…. The truth finally emerged — only ten sailfish had been caught that day! Let that be a lesson — Facebook reveals the truth! Passop! Here’s some more free advice — this time to the new fishermen out there: Never divulge your secret fishing marks; they won’t be secret for long. I know of far too many camp-fire stories where secrets have been shed — and are then quickly followed by an oopsie-daisy-Ihad-one-too-many-beers apology. If you thought girls could gossip and whine you obviously haven’t heard a fisherman — they take it to a whole new level. And no fisherman moans like the fisherman who’s suffering from fishing withdrawal symptoms. As I sit here writing, my man hasn’t been fishing in about a week and his Rapala Lip looks like it’s fixed in place. I keep praying that the weather gods send a westerly our way so that he can get out on the ocean again. Despite all of this, we love them to pieces and somehow find the strength to put up with all the hassles of being a fisherman’s wife. I keep reminding myself the perks are still there — if you look hard enough.