Everyone likes to fish.  Everyone but me that is.  I pretty much hate everything that goes along with fishing.  Hooks are sharp, fish are slimy, and worms are wiggly.  In fact, worms are the worst part of fishing.  But I attend fishing trips to be with the family.  With familial togetherness in mind, I attended an evening of fishing one night last summer.  I brought our camp chairs and a picnic blanket to keep my feet safely away from bugs since I knew I would be nowhere near the dock and therefore surrounded by grass- which of course is where all the bugs live.  I invisioned a quiet sunset, laughing children  and my husband baiting every hook and throwing every little fish that was caught back.  When we got there I set myself up several feet off from the dock and made myself comfortable by taking  off my sandals.   I stretched my legs and settled my back into the chair.  Let the relaxation begin.

As the fishing got into full swing my 6 year old, Sarah, decided it would be much better to fish near me.  So with pole, worm and hook, she came to sit beside me  My relaxing evening quickly turned into a fearful one as I wondered how the local emergency room would treat a person with a hook in their eye. 

My girl is not patient when it comes to fishing.  Throw the line in and reel it back immediately.  Over and over again this happened and increased with intensity as she saw that her more patient brothers and cousins were catching fish left and right. To add insult to injury, her worm was suddenly gone off its hook, so she just knew that a fish was in that water taunting her.  Frustration and whining ensued and finally I got her to move back to the dock where her father was baiting hooks.  

My peace was short lived, however, because soon it was too dark to fish and everyone packed it in.  In the semidarkness, I stood and slipped my foot into my sandal where I felt a decided slimy squish of something under my big toe.  My body and mind froze as I tried to work out what in the world could have created that icky feeling.  And then I knew as certainly as I have ever known anything that my big toe had just smooshed the worm that Sarah had lost from her hook just a half hour before.

My stomach rolled and I jumped from the blanket to wipe my toe on the grass.  Chills moved up and down my arms and legs and I knew that my toe would never be clean again. 

These events happened last July, but now in Oct.  as I finally get a chance to sit down and write about it my stomach is again feeling like I might not make it through the last paragraph of this post. 

Needless to say,  I will still go on fishing trips but never again will I take my sandals off!