Wednesday, January 7, 2015

"Fred's rod doesn't work"

My wife and I recently had the wife of a fly fishing friend over while our friend was out of town on business.  The wife, I’ll call her Jeanette, is a sweet young woman that’s easy to like.  I guess that if I had to find any fault with her, it would be that she tends to be rather blunt and has a small tendency to exaggerate things just a bit.

We were sitting in the family room sipping some Baileys when she mentioned that things weren't going well for her.  Pam and I both squirmed uncomfortably not knowing what was coming next.  Before we could brace ourselves, Jeanette started to cry.  I’d seen Jeanette cry once before when she stepped on a cricket one night.  As the echo of the crunch died in the stillness, Jeanette started to blubber. I don’t know how else to describe it.  All noise, tears and snot.

And here we were about to hear the blubbering confession of a fly fisher’s wife.  I started to rise, thinking that these type of things are best left to the women. (See, I can be a little chauvinistic when necessary)  Pam had me by the pant leg and wasn't about to let go.

As I struggled against Pam’s grip, I heard those words that no man wants to hear.  Jeanette screeched, “Fred’s rod doesn't work.”  Now I was screeching as well and continued struggling to free myself.  Pam put an assuring arm around Jeanette’s shoulder, still holding me planted on the couch. 

Jeanette rummaged through her purse and said, “Here, I've got pictures.”  I yelled, Dear God, no!” which caused Bubby the non-fishing dog to start running around barking and biting at his ass.  I finally broke free from Pam and was promptly bitten on the calf.

Meanwhile, Jeanette managed to pull the dreaded picture out of her purse and pushed it into my face all the while screeching in my ear.  Against all common sense, I glanced at the picture expecting to see the dishonorable member of my friend Fred.

Jeanette was able to finally finish her story.  She had taken Fred’s bamboo fly rod out in the back yard to try casting and had somehow managed to break it. 

As I dried my tears away and massaged my swollen leg, the only thing I could think to say was, good old Fred.