I’m probably the most pathetic Montana girl the state has ever known. I live in a beautiful part of the country, nestled in the mountains and wilderness, and yet I don’t hunt, fish, or camp. I only ride horses casually. I like to shower, and mosquitoes and I have never really been on speaking terms. I love Montana, but I don’t exactly fit the stereotype.
This weekend, my boss and coworkers decided to fix that. The fish weren’t biting, but all involved figured that if nothing else, I ought to at least know how to cast a line. After a brief demonstration, I felt confident enough to try a few practice casts. I didn’t expect any aquatic creatures to actually latch on.
Once I got all 13 inches of petit poisson on the bank, I really didn’t know what to do with him. I was all for throwing him back; my boss’ kids were all for eating him. Meanwhile, he was spluttering and flailing in the grass, gasping for air.
I may not know anything about fishing, but if television has taught me one thing, it’s that you smack the fish’s head on a rock to put it out of its misery. Well, I’m a huge chicken, and no one else was doing anything about the poor fish writhing in the grass.
Then, the kids named him Gary.
I wanted to cry.
So, my boss carried Gary to the house so we could take the requisite photo of me holding my Big Catch. He showed me how to stick my finger into Gary’s gill and up through his mouth. At this point, I was pretty sure that Gary had finally suffocated.
Not so. Once I had my finger hooked in Gary’s gill and between his teeth, he started gnawing on it.
I probably deserved that.
So there I was, apologizing to Gary, and promising him it would all be over soon, while my boss took a snapshot for the ol’ scrapbook. My fiancé spent the rest of the evening trying to convince me that I’m not a fish murderer, and yes, I can still go to heaven.
I am the most pathetic Montana girl in the world.
So, here’s a question for you: in what ways do you fit, or not fit, the stereotypes that you ought to?