What I'm referring to at the moment is my husband's upcoming trip to northern Minnesota, planned for the middle of February when the temps are four degrees below on a regular basis. Unless they're three below.
Why would he go, you wonder. Well, to go ice-fishing. Which means, to sit on a frozen lake and dangle a fishing line into a hole in the ice, for hours on end. (See photo)
The draw is drinking beer, if you ask me, and plenty of it, along with some other guys who are around, all of them talking "man talk." Oh, did I mention he first has to drive two hours to an airport, then fly for three and a half hours, spend the night in a hotel, then drive five hours (across the frozen landscape) to get to the little hole in the ice?
See what I mean? It's embarrassing. Especially since he doesn't fish.
No comments:
Post a Comment