A Fish Tale

As a single mom, any time someone graciously offers to take my son for a few hours, I am elated. Don’t get me wrong, my little guy is the love of my life – but he can Wear. Me. Out. Anyway, yesterday a very good friend offered to take Ryan fishing while his wife and daughters were at the pool and my kid just about bounced off the walls with excitement.

How do you communicate with a fish? – You drop it a line.

Garry picked him up around 2:00 with the announcement “Let’s go get bait!” Ryan stopped, turned to me and said “Oh yeah, Mom, we need hotdogs. I forgot.”

“No, no, no, no, no,” Garry said, “Bait. Real bait. We’re gonna get worms!”

Worms. Yuck. “Cool!” my kid said.

Two fish swim into a concrete wall. – One turns to the other and says, ‘Dam!’

I had a leisurely two hours to myself. Heaven. I straighten up the house a bit, ran a few errands; then about a half hour into my book I hear a car door slam. The fishermen had returned.

“Mom! Mom! Mom!” Ryan yelled as I was opening the door. “Guess what?! I caught SEVEN fish! Seven fish! And we brought one home and we’re gonna cook it for supper!” What did he say? As though he had heard me, my son repeats “We brought one home. The biggest one. Look!”

Garry is laughing and walks over holding a cruddy looking paper bag with something sticking out of the opening. Is that a tail?  “He did,” Garry says, “he caught seven fish. This is a bass, about one and a half, two pounds.”

My kid is doing some sort of jig around the bag. “Look, Mom. It’s a bass. We can clean it up and cook it. Let’s do it now!”

I look in the bag. It was a fish alright. About a foot long and covered with leaves and dirt. I look at Garry, who is giving it his best effort not to laugh.

What’s the difference between a fish and a piano? – You can’t tuna fish.

"How did it get so dirty?" I asked my son.

"It was the wasp, Mom. I used it to kill the wasp near the fish." That explains the pebbles and twigs.

As we move into the house, I take the bag to the kitchen, grab a dinner plate and slide the slimy thing onto it. “What do you propose I do with it?” directing my question to Garry, “I have no idea how to clean fish.”

“Cut the head off first” he says. I shoot him a look as I put the plate and fish under the faucet to try and rinse some of the gunk off of it.

“No, Mom! Don’t get it wet. It will come back to life!” What? I shut off the tap, drain the water from the plate and put it on the counter.

The fish moves.

“It moved! It moved! It’s alive, Mom. It’s alive!” Damn.

We all look at the fish. Nothing. Thank God. ”Okay,” Ryan says, “Cleany’s dead.” I make a decision. “Tell you what, honey, we’ll wrap him up…”

Ryan interjects, “His name is Cleany, Mom.” I blink.

“Ah, okay, we’ll wrap Cleany up, put him in the freezer and then look for a recipe online. Okay?”

With that, I picked up the fi… Cleany – leaves, dirt and all – and slid him into a plastic produce bag, wrapped it tight and popped it into the freezer.

Anyone know how to clean a really dirty fish? Do I need soap?

Why are fish so gullible? – They fall for things hook, line and sinker.

A friend on Facebook kindly informed me that you should clean the fish BEFORE you freeze it (thanks, Janet). Ah well, too late. Guess I’ll be making a trip to the fish market…