My daughter, Amanda, returned from her Spring Break trip on Tuesday. While I was buried under a mound of work I couldn’t get away from, she enjoyed several days on Bald Head Island with my twin sister. Ben made the trip to SC to pick Amanda up and when she came through that door, I was so happy to have her safely in my sights again. At almost 15, she is quite the beauty and I am always fearful of her safety in this now upside-down world.
The next morning I left her snuggled in her bed, with Gypsy huddled against her still in a happy haze that her girl had returned. (you should have heard her purring when Amanda picked her up after her seemingly never-ending absence!) However, a few hours later I received a call from my baby girl and despite the frustration in her voice, her words had me laughing out of my seat. It seems the story she heard from her dad about the gigantic fish he caught while she was gone somehow boosted her out of dream world and down to the dock to see for herself if there really is big fish in our little pond. Of course, before venturing out to the secluded pond in our yard, she first had to get herself ready and don her new skirt that I paid too much money for— and she was supposed to pay back out of her allowance but didn’t. (we all know how that goes..)
I’m sure feeling like a true fisherman after her recent daddy/daughter lessons, Amanda grabbed the pole and threw it back in order to give it a good toss to the pond. But as she attempted to throw it forward, it was stuck. She pulled harder and immediately felt a draft swirl up around her knees and a sharp pinch to her cute little butt. Whoops, she caught the hook on her own backside! Infuriated, she set the pole down and attempted to dislodge the sharp hook, but it was not to be so easy. She was finally able to remove it from her skin but it was stubbornly stuck in the delicate material of her new skirt.
After a few minutes of unsuccessful wiggling, she contemplated just taking her skirt off to get a better grip on the hook versus the material. Living out in the country like we do, I probably would have had that thought, too, but just as the idea ran through her mind it quickly ran back out again when she looked up to see what appeared to be a parade of senior citizens driving tractors down our country road. [Why is there a parade of tractors coming down our road? I have no idea but I hope it has nothing to do with spreading more chicken poop—I’ve had about as much of that stench as I can stand!]
Admitting defeat, she then juggled the fishing pole with one hand and the hook in her skirt with the other, and being the graceful gazelle she is, *smile* she made her way up the steep hill to our house, tripping all the way over the extra fishing line dangling around her feet. Right outside the door, she dropped her skirt to puddle around her feet, laid the fishing pole next to it and gave up her pursuit of The Big One.
So Amanda obviously can’t yet tell a story of the One That Got Away but she can sure tell about The One That Didn’t Get Away—herself.
She caught a big one, alright!
Disclaimer: No fish were actually hurt during the production of this drama, only one flimsy tortured skirt and a previously lucky shiny metal hook that had to be cut away from said material, and the shattered pride of one indignant kid.
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