About two months ago, I was sitting across the table from Rog, our girls battling over the last piece of pizza when I had a relationship epiphany. Well, that would be an understatement. It was more like the Second Coming. The clouds parted. The sun shone down.
“I’ll do it,” I announced, my mouth speaking well before my brain thought to add some helpful context.
Rog’s eyes bulged. He swallowed, a crooked, half-smile appearing on his face.
|This isn’t me. But it could be. Soon.
It took me a moment before I giggled.
“No–no! I mean, I’ll do it. I’ll go on a fishing trip with you.”
At that, Rog really did start to choke on his food. I kicked him under the table. Before he projectile-vomited across the table, I explained.
“I got to thinking that I need to woman-up on this and just get in the water. You’ve asked me to go, and I keep saying no, for no reason other than I think it’s going to be boring and cold. But we can go when it’s sunny, right?”
Rog, by this time, has taken a drink of water, and is vigorously nodding his head. “Yes, of course!”
In order to understand why this is so gravitous in our relationship, you need to liken it to a pacifist suddenly offering to go shooting an AK-47 at the river like some redneck. It’s like Nancy Pelosi and Bill O’Rielly. Me and river/fly fishing just don’t go together.
Yet, over the years, I’ve got to thinking. These guys (3 to be exact) fly down in one of the guys jets (he has 3), hit a stream or ocean, sometimes in the freezing hail or snow, or crashing waves, but also in the sunny, warm and gorgeous climates. Neither men (who, by the way, I adore, even if they are married, one as thick as a walking potato, the other as lean as a straight line), ever, ever offer (or want) to take their wives. My husband has constantly asked to take me, (and they say “he** yes!), yet I keep say no.
For no good reason. Well, unless being warm counts as a good reason.
Finally, after nearly 14 years of marriage, I realized I was being an idiot. Here’s a great chance to due my husband right, both by getting out of my comfort zone, but becoming a bigger part of his life. As I’ve aged, and watched couples split apart, the notion of ‘we don’t spend time together,’ plays a factor. My easy excuse of sleeping in (they get up at the ungodly hour of 4 am), getting in the water or on a boat when the bats are still flying, truly doesn’t sound fun. Yet, I’ll get the time there and back (it’s not always on a jet), at dinner or at lunch, and of course, let us not forget, I’ll get what Roger calls, “kick-a** cute clothing).
I explained my general reasoning, but he’d already moved on, talking about the upcoming trips we could go on, what I’d need by way of outfitting, rod and line (am I getting that right?) and babysitters. Not one month later, we were driving to Montana, and hit upon one of the “top 2 fly-fishing spots in the world.” That will be another blog of course, as I took pictures (let its suffice to say it’s home to Ernest Hemingway’s ranch).
As we near the start of our 15th year of marriage, I almost felt proud of myself. I’m not cutting bait on our relationship (and trust me, there have been times…). I’m doing the opposite. I’m going to go fish.