Lost My Spot
There are a few fault lines in my aptitudes. I can tell because sometimes the spell checker in my computer starts to smoke. And I perform typos with a physical dexterity that no one can respect. But it’s my word arrangement and memory loss that bother me the most.
You see – once I went fishing with Joe Billy Bob. He was an acquaintance from the neighborhoods. Most people called him JBB, but I called him JB for short. I caught a nice fish and with it he took my photo. I mean he took my photo with it.
Here it is, and I wrote on the back, “Rainbow 28”, 11 lbs, #8 fly, 6 lb tippet.” I was using a Midge Blue Dun. But I didn’t make note of where I was fishing at the time. Can you imagine that? And now I don’t remember where that spot is.
But JB does, only he won’t tell me, thinking that since I can’t remember, he’ll keep that knowlege for his very own personal use. He didn’t catch a single fish that day and probably was put off that I skunked him with three others about the same size, and a nice brown.
Finally I capitulated with JB because I really wanted to know. I promised him that if he’d remind me where we were fishing that day, I’d leeve him my prize Pflueger Medalist reel.
Instead of telling me, he suddenly disappeared, and his wife had no idea where he went, except that his fly rod also was missing, and so was his box of Midge Blue Duns. I just don’t understand the way JB thinks. What are friends for anyway, if you can’t use them?
Well, that’s the sad story, and I really don’t know what else to say, except that if anybody can tell me where I caught that beautiful rainbow trout, I’ll tell them a secret that I haven’t revealed to anyone – ever.