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Day 5: It’s What Fucking Time?!?

09 Jul

After a surprisingly quiet sleep for Fat One I woke up to silence.   A good sign.  It must be early, right?  Fucking nope.  Its 9:00.  Loud One is sitting in the living room quietly waiting for someone.  Grandma and Drama Queen are both asleep.  Grandpa is still passed out.  Neighbours are already out on the lake.  Early morning fishing is fucked.  Thanks a fucking lot, Alexander Keith.  Coffee is little comfort when dealing with the sting of missed fishing opportunities.  Drama Queen is now awake as is Fat One and Little One.   Immediately they start badgering to go outside.  I’m hungover, I’m hungry and I missed prime fishing time.  Not a good time to start pestering me.  Luckily Grandma and Grandpa wake quickly and usher the little monsters outside.

After about an hour of sucking down coffee and shaking the cobwebs Grandpa and I get ready to head out on the lake and do some fishing.  Its a miserably sunny morning and its already 90 degrees.  Mother fucking Nature.   She’s an extreme old cow.  Being a supremely pasty white male of Irish descent, I don’t tan.  I can spend an hour i direct sun at mid-day and com out just as blindingly white as when I started.  So i didn’t think anything of going to on the lake without any sunscreen.  I’ve got a hat.  I’ll be fine.  Grandpa and I loaded up our gear and took to the lake, looking for some of the sweetspots we remembered from the night before.  Once again, all we caught were shitty sunfish and cunty rock bass.  And one of those miserable little pricks swallowed my hook.  I hope you enjoyed that worm because its the last meal you’ll ever have as the steel hook rips apart your insides.  I shouldn’t say thats all we caught.  Grandpa did land one decent sized smallmouth bass.  We jumped around to a few more spots on what was a surprisingly peaceful Brule Lake.  No wind, no kids and very few other boaters.  It was a really nice, relaxing morning.  After a few hours of catching nothing but snags and pan fish we decided to return back to the cottage.

Upon our return I hungrily attacked the leftovers from the kids breakfast.  Cold bacon, cold scrambled eggs and cold hash browns.  Disgusting but also delicious.  We made our way to the roped off swimming are where the kids were hanging out.  Drama Queen and Loud One were in the water.  Loud One was terrified of the fish at the bottom and would not let go of The Sibling once the water got past his waist.  Drama Queen was trying to scoop fish into a net with poor results.  Fat One was napping and Little One seemed to think this swimming business wasn’t worth the hassle.  After a few beers I decided I would wade out into the water to help with the little monsters.  I tried to help Drama Queen catch some fish but being Little Miss Independent she ignored my offers.  Fat One woke up shortly thereafter and wanted to come in.  I picked him up and started walking into the deeper water up to my chest.  I attempted to let him go to float in his lifejacket.  This was a mistake.  The pudgy wonder squealed in terror and desperately clung to me for life.

 Despite the heat of the day, the water was still quite cool and Fat One’s lips were starting to turn blue so we got out of the water amid many protestations.  Today was my last day at the cottage and I needed to get on the road to hopefully avoid traffic.  We got everybody dried and changed and I packed up and loaded my vehicle for the return voyage.  I said my goodbyes to everybody and noted that my stupid kids didn’t seem to care that I was leaving.   Jerks.  After driving for about an hour I stopped for gas.  Being a financially paranoid person, I called to check my bank account before filling up.  Shit.  No money.  No gas.  Wife unable to transfer money because I have the only bank card for this particular account.  This account is with a credit union.  From Alberta.  So the only way to put money in it is to do it through another credit union ATM.  Fuck.  I immediately begin to panic.  I’m imagining myself sleeping in the truck, parked behind a gas station huddled amongst my luggage shivering and holding my knees to my chest.   I immediately start texting my wife furiously trying to figure out how I’m going to get home.  Keep in mind I’m still in northern Ontario with crummy cell reception.  I’m barely able to get any websites to load on my phone but I managed to find the number for the lodge my family is staying at.  I left a message explaining I was stranded in Northbrook and could somebody come help me.  I felt fully confident that someone would be along to get me within the hour.  4 hours later and about a dozen unanswered text messages and another phone call to the lodge I was blissfully rescued.  I got gassed up and finally started the trek home thinking it would be smooth sailing from here.

About another hour into the drive I was sweating like fat kid running a marathon.  My shoulders started to turn a bright bright red and were on fire.  It was so painful that I had to drive with no shirt.  Yeah.  I was that guy.  Cruising the 401 topless listening to Citizen Mel on CBC Radio with my windows down to try and cool the smoldering flesh on my shoulders.  By the time I pulled into my parking spot at home I already had blisters starting to form.  I gingerly applied some aloe lotion to the scorched flesh and fell into a fitful sleep.

So thats it.  I hope you enjoyed it.  From the feedback I’ve gotten I will attempt to continue with our familial escapades.  We’re in the process of moving across the country.  We’ll be driving the whole way.  Me, the wife, Drama Queen and Fat One.  So I’m sure there will be many tales to share as we slowly lumber from Niagara Falls, Ontario to Edmonton, Alberta.

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Posted by on July 9, 2012 in Family Trauma

 

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