Fishing and Dating

As I was floating in my float tube on a lake in the Uinta's, fishing pole in the water, and beautiful skies over head I began to make a list of how dating is a lot like fishing.

* Both require patience.

* The easiest ones to catch are the little planter fish. These are the fish you catch and thank for the thrill of reeling him in. You take the hook out without hurting him too badly, then put the fish back in the water and watch him swim away. These could be compared to the men who have potential but aren’t quite there yet. They need a little more time to mature.

* The “Big One”, the one any fisherwoman would be happy to have mounted on her wall, is the hardest to catch. He requires the most finesse. He is the fish that nibbles on the bait and thinks, “Hmmm. Tasty. Maybe I’ll go in for seconds.” Once he takes that second bite, the fisherwoman has to set the hook just right, otherwise he gets off of the line and finds some other bait and some other fisherwoman. The other fisherwoman is probably a size 2, pulls off sexy in neoprene waders, and has caught so many fish that she has little appreciation for the “Big One”. She is probably looking at her stringer and comparing this one to the others on the line. If she deems it worthy enough she will keep it on the string; if not, she will remove the hook but probably not as carefully as the other women on the lake, and let the fish go. Pretty soon the “Big One” is either in the freezer waiting his turn on the grill, or found floating dead in the water.

* The “Fish Story” is what you tell to make a not so great day fishing sound better than it actually was so the more experienced fishermen don’t think you completely suck at fishing. In dating it is what you tell yourself to make a bad date better. It is the “it was nice to get out and have a free meal” story.

I would prefer a bad day fishing to a bad date any day. Ideally a good day fishing would be followed up by a good date. Or better yet, a good day fishing with a great date. Maybe someday...

Addiction

It is the day before payday and I am scrounging for change.

The basket in the laundry room where I throw the loose change from the washer yields 15 cents while the change canister in the kitchen comes up empty. Forget the change jar in the bedroom, it was raided long ago and never replenished. A search through the car gets me 10 cents. Feeling hopeful and slightly crazed I check the ashtray in the Blazer. I haven’t driven it for a few months and have no idea what to expect.

Jackpot! Could this be enough? I scoop out the change and find 70 cents in dimes and nickels. Almost there. I count out five pennies and throw the rest back into the ashtray.

I feel rich. I have a dollar!

Getting in the car, I head to the gas station. The gauge is on E and the odometer says “Fuel Level Low”. As if I need the reminder.

Pulling up to the drive thru window I ask, “Can I get a 32 ounce Coke without ice?”

The young man hands me my Coke and I give him a handful of change. A dollar to be exact.

Before driving away I take a sip. I feel the little bubbles of carbonation fill my mouth and the cool liquid slides down my throat. It hits my stomach and my nerves are calmed.

I have my Coke. My day can begin.