Going Fishing in a Tub

When I heard that there was a boat-trip planned by my husband's sports club I looked at him with utter dismay. "Yes, wives are invited too, it's going to be fun, you'll see. We're going fishing!" Hubby was positively bubbling. As he was looking around the wardrobe for a suitable nautical outfit, I was torn between marital loyalty and fear.

This fear of large expanses of water has not always been so. I can swim like a dolphin, and look good in a bathing suit. But it all started a long time ago when I was a teenager and was stung by a jellyfish. It wasn't the sting itself that freaked me out. It was the idea that a slimy sea creature had wrapped its tentacles around my legs while I wasn't looking. And of course the sea is full of uncertainties like that so I decided to respect the choppy waves and everything that lived in it from now on, which resulted in that I stayed away from all water for a long time, including swimming pools.

So while hubby was looking for his fishing rod, I sank down in the nearest chair. After some thinking, I decided that perhaps it was a good idea to go. Yes, the more I thought about it, the better it became in my mind. I imagined a sleek yacht, vol-au-vents and drinks with umbrellas. Or a cruise liner where hubby was cheerfully hauling in nets with tuna, a garland of exotic flowers around his neck.

The day our nautical adventure took place started at 4 am. The boat was to leave at 6am. I still don't know why we had to be up and about at an hour when even the roosters were snuggled up and the world looked dark and gloomy. But after an hours' drive we arrived at the harbor. I looked around me if I could spot the yacht.

There was an old boat, barely bigger than a rowing boat. That was to be ours for the day. I felt a slight depression coming up, and exclaimed loudly that I wasn't going. No way; if my husband wanted to drown that was his decision but I wanted to live. He looked at me. "Then you have to sit here all day; the bus leaves tonight and not before that." So I stumbled after him on the gangplank and onto the boat.

The sports club piled into the cabin, where it was warm and cosy, and the boat left the safety of the harbor. The boat was grey, the sky was grey and the water was grey. My mood was also grey, due to lack of caffeine and too much fresh air. As the waves were getting choppier I started looking for the inflatable boats and planning my survival.

"Ten uses for coconuts" Just in case we shipwrecked on a tropical island .This kept me busy for a while, but then I realized we weren't even close to any islands, let go a tropical one. The next scenario that played in my head was being rescued by dolphins. I asked a crew member if there were any dolphins around. "In these waters? No, absolutely not. But I've heard of the odd whale". Great, a killer whale around this tub was all I needed.

Since I hadn't had any coffee yet, I decided to drink my customary 6 or so in one go, after all this could be my last day on earth and then you deserve something that perks you up. The mugs were of the extra large variety, which didn't surprise me; the crew themselves needed something as well with all those whales around. After 6 of these mugs I felt a lot better and went in search for the bathroom.

The bathroom was situated on the middle of the deck, and consisted of 3 walls and a door, and no roof. Needless to say that the fresh breeze made aerosols superfluous and the toilet paper looked rather festive, flapping around. Since the door- and walls were of the economical size, as well as the prominent position of this rickety structure everybody could keep track of what you were doing there. Also the sea was getting a bit wild and by now it was gale force.

Hubby and his friends were having a good time fishing and good sport that I am I was going to sit with them for a while.

As I sank down on a couple of plastic garbage bags I immediately jumped up again. The previously comatose fish inside the plastic bags had come to life again. mistaking my behind with a rescue-mission. As I was shrieking on the top of my lungs the whole bag started slithering off the bench and fish were jumping all over the deck, no doubt trying to get back in the water.

In the end it didn't matter: everybody got too drunk on that trip to notice my antics and were busy emptying their stomachs in the sea, no doubt feeding those killer whales. When we finally got home, we had Mc.Donald's fish burgers, on dry land. And the sea? It's still there, with all its mysterious creatures, however I stay ashore from now on.