We went to the beach today. We were celebrating a birthday (not mine or Kate’s – they’ve already past), and that’s how the birthday girl wanted to spend it, so we packed a handful of us up and headed to the beach.
It’s was lovely. The sky was clear, the beach was nearly deserted, the water was nearly as warm as bath water. The surf was just rough enough to be fun, without being too heavy to deal with.
Ya just couldn’t ask for a better day at the beach.
So we’re out in the water, having a ball and just goofing and riding the waves. There’s the occasional swim suit slippage resulting in one of us mooning the rest and such, and that was pretty funny.
Suddenly there’s a bit of ruckus as one of the male members of our party starts hollering. John (the fella in question) is in slightly shallower water and he’s dancing around and reaching down into the water.
John is not only reaching into the water, he’s reaching down into the front of his swimming trunks. While that in itself is not all that unusual to see while Kate and I are at the beach, John’s jumping around and hollering were. John hollers “Holy Shit!” and pulls his hand out of the water, and he’s holding a fish, about five inches long!
It was kind of silvery white, but I don’t know what kind of fish it was, and I was swallowing too much water from laughing my butt off while being hammered by a run of good size waves. I must have drank a few gallons, so if high tide is a little low in your area tonight, you know why.
I think Kate wet herself laughing and man, were the fish-bait jokes flying. Poor John. I’m still giggling, though.
Seems the lady down the beach must have been using the wrong kind of bait, because for all the hours she spent there with some pretty professional looking equipment, she left empty handed, while John… well as I said, he wasn’t empty handed. She should have been using trouser worms.