Don’t you love stinking up a bar? Isn’t it great to have all eyes on you as you trace the dance floor on the way to your table? You swear people are hiding smirks behind pint glasses. They’re whispering “do you smell fish?”
I mean come on. Who hasn’t cleaned a pile of crappie then headed to the bar to celebrate their birthday? Really? I know I’m not the only one.
For those brave enough to admit it, I’m here to provide support. If you have ever wafted the scent from the fillet table past fellow patrons in the bar you, my friend, have “Crappie Dusted”. It’s cool, dude. You’re not the first. Apparently I am.
John’s innocent joke just now dawned on me. It’s like he has humor-clairvoyance. We were in the middle of an awesome day of crappie fishing. Tossing gear in the truck and out of the blue he says “you should name your next blog post crappie dusting!”. OK dude. A fart joke. We must be 12 to think that’s funny. But he caught the monster bass of the day so I agreed to naming rights.This was days ago. Saturday April 9th, 2011, to be exact. We couldn’t keep the bobbers floating. The crappie kept sinking them. Spirits were high when John and Branden took off to tend to stuff before we all met up at the bar later that night. Dusty and I stuck around. The fishing was still on and we were almost out of bait anyway. Besides, it was a shared birthday bash for both me and my birthday twin Katherine. Since she was born exactly one year earlier, I decided to clean a bunch of fish and show up late. Graciously giving her the first hour and a half without my presence. When I walked in, I swore I heard a record scratch.
I scrubbed my hands. I used dish soap. I used 409. I tried that Nickel Rubaway bar. I couldn’t help it. I just stunk like fish. All I had to do was look at John and pretend to smell my hand and he would just about spit his beer on the floor. Was it really that funny? I only cleaned a few.