I've had this idea in my head for awhile now that I really wanted to go fishing. It seems like it would be the perfect sport for me. Requires minimal physical agility, most of the time is spent hanging out and I like fish. My favorite game is the plastic fishing one where the fish go around opening their mouths and you hook them with your plastic ball on a string. I have fond memories of it from when I was a kid. When I was about 8, my brother took two of my cousins and I to a nearby lake that was having a kid's fishing competition. One of my cousins fondly remembers how my mother kept putting sweaters on her until she had about 7 or 8 of them on and no amount of complaining about how hot it was would change my mother's mind. I remember pulling in about 4 or 5 fish that day. Each time the line would jerk, I was estatic. By the time we left, we had two buckets full of trout. I'd even placed 3rd in my age group. Although my record would be crushed about 10 minutes after I left. We got to the lake and rented the poles and bought whatever bait the guy told us to. Sure I'd just been cheated out of $20 because they claimed to only have 2-day passes but since the lake is closed tomorrow I'm basically just buying the 1-day pass at the inflated rate. But I was going to do this, dammit. The sun was scorching so I wanted to find a spot near a tree. After a mile of hiking over rocks and under trees (in flip-flops because I clearly didn't have any foresight) I'd lost my patience when my bag snagged on a tree and ripped open. We settled on whatever shade there was and set up camp. As I handed the BF my pole, as predicted I hooked myself. Just barely. But enough to make to scream and holler. Mostly for attention. The BF opened up the bait and wondered aloud if they'd forgotten to put the bait inside. "Um...they're alive so look under the dirt," I answered. "Oh gross." After 15 minutes of trying to figure out how to break the worms apart on the owner guy's advice (and my squealing and gagging on my part) the poles were baited. Much to my surprise, I could still cast. But that was all I could do. After flinging two worms into the drink, I gave up and picked up a plastic worm that someone had dropped to use instead. I'd found a nice spot and somehow avoided getting stuck in the weeds. Then I saw a fish. A catfish by a big rock just below where I'd cast. Then thoughts started to fill my head. Oh crap, if he bites then I'll have to bring him in and somehow remove the hook. What if it hurts the poor catfish. I don't really want to eat him. We didn't bring a bucket or anything, where am I going to put a catfish? So instead, I just reeled the line in as fast as I could. Then I proclaimed that the fish just weren't biting there and moved on. As it turns out, I really didn't need to worry. The tiny fish were too small to bite the hook and the catfish weren't interested in the worms. Even when the BF spotted a catfish at the edge of the lake and put the worm right in front of him. Even when he poked the fish on the head with the bait. Even when he pushed him with his pole. That fish just wasn't into him. On our way out I stopped by the bathroom to wash my hands. It was only then that I realized just how red I was. And it was then that I remembered we forgot the sunscreen. Right now I'm burnt to a crisp and all my clothes hurt so bad and my complexion closely resembles a cooked lobster. But I can say that I've gone fishing as an adult and will never get the urge to go ever again. Next week, gun range. | 
