Monday, December 3, 2012
So I’m wanderin’ through the local big box toy store (no, it's not one of my usual haunts, but with Christmas approaching grandfathers 'R' asked to do such things) and my trout senses start tingling. When you spend enough time straining to spot the shadowy shapes of submerged salmonids it becomes instinctive and subconscious, even when you're off the stream. Once a fly fisherman…
Anyway, my radar says there’s fish close by. I freeze in my tracks, get low, and silently survey the rows of colorful shelves while nearby shoppers move nervously towards the exits. I can't pick out the target and kick myself for not having my polarized glasses. But wait. Yes. There. Between the remote control monster trucks and the Wreck-it Ralph action figures. I see it. The Fish Fry.
I'm stunned. Random reactions run rampant through my cerebral cortex.
That’s SO wrong! Or is it?
It does introduce kids to fishing… maybe… but not catch and release.
A cut brown, brown ‘bo, rain brown, cutty rain brown? Hank would know.
Kid. That trout's only 7 inches! Did you check your local wildlife regs before you fried it?
Let me get this straight. A kit to play outdoors, indoors?
You can “Camp out in your room” when you turn fourteen, Junior. And then stay there 'till college.
“Cookin' at the campsite” Hey! That’s MY shtick!
And then there’s…
No fire. I'm bummed. Doubly so when I realize that the pass-around flask of Jack isn't included either.
We'll fix that at the next stop.
Done 'R' I shopping.