Husband avid fisherman, often caught fish, but somehow restless neighbor told about him terrible Bashny.Net

Usually. fishing It goes on for days. Often, men do not notice that time is already nearing the end, and three shagged pescars with a finger long are scrambling in the cage. After all, fishing is primarily a rest of the soul and body. Live fish can be purchased at any store nearby.



As usual, men at home forgive everything. It smells weird and your eyes shine. I forgot to bring the fish home, who doesn’t! But sitting in the fresh air - well done, you will be healthier! If you clean that fish, then the whole kitchen smells. Just resting. Now go lie down. Work tomorrow.

You know, I'm the wife of an avid fisherman. My husband's work has nothing to do with nature or anything like that. All the time, all the meetings and the laptop I'm bored with. Of course we communicate. Don't fight. But it happens that he is missing so close. There is only a dog at home and an eternal cleaning. We don't have kids, so I'm not so tired of household chores.

Every two weeks my husband goes fishing with his friends. They bought all sorts of gear, a large tent and even an inflatable boat. Fishing is something of a hobby. For example, I never heard them argue among themselves about the catch. How to plant a worm, than feed - this can be talked about non-stop. Not a word about trophies.



I always thought that the reason for their silence was banal cursiveness. Well, they come, for example, late at night or in the morning. They bring something that the cats would be ashamed to give away. But all are happy, happy, rested. I don't even count my husband's spending. Gas costs more money. What matters is emotion!

But my neighbor and her friend don't think so. One day, when we met again on the landing, she asked me if my husband could help her get to the local market. We often meet our neighbors. People need help. I told her that my husband was going out with his friends to fish.

Then she smiled at me and replied: “Yeah, let my wife sit at home, and my husband, a businessman, will go fishing.” Got it. Aren't you jealous of your lover? See if anything happens.” You see, I am not an evil person and I can take jokes to my own account, even those that are beyond the bounds. And this time, I joked, too.



But the seeds of doubt had already been planted, and I confess I was thinking. There's really no catch. What the men are doing, I don't know. There's no signal to call. You ask, the answer is always the same. The weather's not the same, so we sat down with friends, maybe we had a drink. And home. How else? In short, I gave an ultimatum: next time you take me, or I make a scandal.

We prepared for the next two weeks. My husband showed me a ton of YouTube videos on how to unwind a line, tie a hook, bait. How spinning differs from fishing rod, and bream from carp. A real young fighter course. He answered my profane questions with a slight smile and the look of a gray-haired teacher. But I wasn't offended. I went into the pool myself.

Saturday morning, when we arrived at the site, was cool and damp. But my husband and friends promised me a good catch because it was a fishy morning. Since I was afraid of water, I was left on the shore, having transferred to my boat most of the provisions and bottles of “fuel”. I was supposed to guard the tent, fish on some ancient fishing rod and communicate with two local old men who also came to fish.

The grandfathers did not have a boat, but there were a thousand stories about how in their youth they caught catfish “the size of a calf” and, in general, enjoyed my company. They laughed at my fishing rod and a huge hook, but with a knowledgeable appearance they said that this would make it easier to plant the worm. But the worms are very unpleasant to me. And I thought it would be nice to come up with an alternative.



And I remembered the cut loaf left in my backpack. There was also some pate on the bottom, and I'm smart, I watched a half-hour video about bait on the Internet. In short, I dug out these remnants of pate and threw it approximately to the place where the float should have been. Bread was hooked, not without the help of one of the old men, and threw the rod.

And here we go. It wasn't me who pulled the first carp, it was the same old man. And at that moment I could see the boyish joy in his eyes. My cheeks are all red. The second fish I had already taken out, but it fell off. Fortunately, the third bite in about 5 minutes. This trophy has been mined from beginning to end. I got excited.

By the end of the evening, there were 8 medium-sized and large fish in the cage, I threw all the trifle into the water. One grandfather came up to me and, looking into my eyes like a gymnasium student, asked me what kind of pâté it was. Okay, for interest. I told him everything, and he walked away, full of thought. In the meantime, the boat was already sailing with my beloved.



As always, the catch is not thick. But the "fuel" is at zero and from edible only sauce and half a loaf of bread. Well, let's cook the ear. For the rest of the evening, the men offered their grandfathers mountains of gold to admit that the catch was actually theirs. But they just stared at their eyes and laughed. That’s how my husband realized for the first time in a long time that I’m not just a housewife, but also something else.

We came home with the biggest carp. The rest of the catch went to the ear and local fishermen. The funny thing is that my husband confessed to me that night: he can’t stand river fish. Except with a lot of spices. Well, he smells like smudge, and that's it. No problem, let's break through.

The next morning I met my neighbor as usual. She hinted at something about taking her somewhere. I just said, "Wait a minute," and I ran to the apartment. I went back and handed my dear “girlfriend” that carp. Healthy, fat. But I'm just starting to sank a little.



Piabay said, “Look what a fisherman my husband is.” And it's not even the biggest fish he caught this weekend. Take it, help yourself. I handed her this crocodile, and she went about her business. Now the neighbor about my relationship with my husband does not even stutter.

Trust your men, really. Sometimes they need to be in the company of friends, relax. You two are close to each other. So don't forget it!