I’m allowing myself ten minutes to remove my tongue from between my teeth and say a little something that has entertained my thoughts for the past six years.
Assumption and I go way back. Way, way back.
High maintenance, made-up, prissy, fake…. My fishing buddies and I always chuckle when the guy who has too much time on his hands feels a strong desire to make a crack about my makeup or color of my hair. If only they knew the joke was on them…
Truth be told, as a casino cocktail waitress for longer than I care to admit, serving drinks and pretending to care about the pace at which chicken fingers are served, allowed me to fish like a maniac during the day and learn more about fishing faster than the average weekend angler. Tight shirts, combed hair, manicured nails (I always had fake ones to try and conceal my embarrassingly calloused and rugged fishing hands), and an ‘easy on the eyes’ image were all part of the uniform.
For years I would work until the early morning, only to clock out and head straight to the river for some early morning fishing. Car packed with all my gear, a toothbrush and a small tube of paste, I would drive all night through icy canyons, stopping only for the occasional energy drink, day-old coffee, and consequently, dreaded rest stops. When my eyes began to feel heavy, I would nap in the lonely bend of a highway pullout until I was snapped back to consciousness by a loud passing semi-truck or obnoxiously honking train.
Hell or high water, I was making it to the river so I could fish all day, before driving all dusk back to work to do it all over again.
Straight from work to the river, crimped hair and all…..(Matt Moisley photo).
There were days I fished with nylons under my breathable waders, and days I fished with rhinestone earrings sparkling in the snow. There were days I reeked like beer and stale perfume, and even more days where mascara flaked my cheeks. But I didn’t care. I was fishing….. and I didn’t have the time to be bothered with high maintenance facial scrubs, make-up remover or hair elastics.
Ironic, isn’t it?
