So I didn’t actually fish, but I was with people who were fishing. Specifically it was my first husband, his friend, and his friend’s wife. It was at some point nonverbally established that the men would catch fish and the women would cook them. Actually I think this agreement was made thousands of years ago. And I was okay with this. R, however, wanted nothing to do with any fish, so once they were caught it was up to me to cook them.

I had never cooked fresh fish before. Yes, I know the grocery stores advertise fresh fish, but they weren’t like these, straight out of the lake. I vaguely remembered my grandmother cooking fish like this, removing the heads followed by other steps, and as far as I knew, cleaning the fish was simply terminology for rinsing them off. Unfortunately removing the heads was the only step I remembered. So, after beheading them, I washed and fried them up, scales, fins, innards and all.

Dinner was interesting. Dirty fried fish. It is quite amazing I still love seafood as much as I do.

By the end of the evening S was drunk, and I think his friend J was as well. R was pissed off. She didn’t want to be there. But then again, she never seemed to want to be anywhere. I didn’t really care for her, yet she was always around, so I figured we could maybe be friends. She wasn’t budging, I got frustrated, made a quip, she called me something or other that I didn’t quite care for, and I slapped her across the face.

That was the first time I had ever slapped another woman. OK, that was the *only* time I have ever slapped another woman. But I am not dead yet, so let’s keep an open mind.

I am not sure where I am going with this story. It is simply a memory I just randomly had. I mean, if you want a moral to the story or something… um… don’t slap women when fishing? No? How about you shouldn’t fish when… um… nevermind. It is a memory and nothing more. No morals. I went fishing, slapped a woman, and learned nothing. Happy now?