Angler Angst

MY HUSBAND, TOM, convinced me to go fishing with him on Delavan Lake in Wisconsin. “You’ll put the worm on for me, right?” I asked anxiously. “We’re using lures,” he answered, as I noticed two hooks sticking out of the piece of metal at the end of my line.

After a while, Tom caught a big one. I screamed when his huge fish crashed out of the water, flapping wildly. As the fish landed inside the boat, I lifted my legs and screamed again. That was enough for me.

As I wound in my line, I felt a tug. “Tom!” I hollered. The sight of my fish exiting the water sent me into full panic and I flashed the fishing rod around like a sword. In the process, one of the lure’s hooks attached to the seat of my pants. Dangling from the other hook was the fish. Its 12 inches of fury didn’t match my 64 inches of hysteria. I leaped around like I had ants in my pants. People in nearby boats stared as I yelled, “Get it o !”

Tom tackled me, worked the lure o and tossed the fish in the water. I expected a lecture. Instead, he laughed so hard his shoulders shook. Today, we roar every time we remember the startled faces of our audience.