I shared the “Bobber Story” with clan members recently, and several reported that they chuckled when they read it.
Later, a frown formed on my face, and I wondered if I had made a mistake in repeating the story that I discovered while sorting through piles of “stuff” as I prepare to shuffle off this mortal coil, i.e. walk into the sunset.
First, the story:
She had never been fishing, but told Willie she loved to fish so that she could spend some time with him.
He was happy to find a woman who appreciated his obsession with fishing gear, bait and water temperature.
When they arrived at Willie’s favorite fishing spot, the fish weren’t biting, but Lucy didn’t care. The sun was shining, and the water lapped gently at the sides of the boat. To be with Willie was all that mattered.
After an hour of listening to his fishing stories, Lucy said, “Willie, you know that red-and-white thing you put on my line?”
“You mean the bobber?” he replied.
“Yeah, how much did it cost?
“About 50 cents.”
“Well,” Lucy said, “then I owe you 50 cents because mine just sank.”
After sharing that story, I realized that I might be criticized for holding a woman up to ridicule. Had I overstepped the ever-tightening circle of political and social correctness? Probably so in the minds of some of my readers.
Which reminded me that I once shared fly-fishing experiences with a woman I met for the first time during a party in Central Oregon.
“How long have you been a fly-fisherman?” I asked innocently.
After she lectured me for several minutes, I changed my vocabulary and now refer to anyone who fly-fishes as a fly-fisher.
So, if anyone objects to my use of a woman as the foil in the bobber story, I apologize and henceforth will refer to that person as a non-fisher.