Summer shorts…

When I fish in the ocean, I dress like a pirate. I wear bummy clothes. Maybe camo, but it’s not that I think Blackbeard wore camouflage. It’s more that camo makes me feel as if I can handle a fish with teeth.

            A bandanna not only keeps the hair out of my eyes, but also makes me feel more piratey. I draw the line at an eye patch. My vision is wonky enough without an added obstruction. Deodorant is a must. My aim is to look like a badass pirate not to smell like one.

            So in truth, maybe I don’t look all that much like a pirate, but more like a woman who can land a sizeable shark. This foolishness in fishing fashion stems from the fact that I’ve worked as hard and harder alongside men and have been paid less for the effort and have been treated like a wench.

            I’ve landed sizeable sharks and rays. Dressing the part is bullshit and does nothing to change my abilities or rewards. It never kept the barracudas at bay either.

            Maybe next year, I’ll wear a sundress while fishing. When I hook into a sizeable fish, the first man who offers help to land it, I’ll knock him into the drink. “You want to help me with a fish? Where were you man when I needed help for fair pay and treatment as a human being?” I’d say.

            But that wouldn’t be nice. The ocean holds sharks.

            I can’t judge everyone as if they were a barracuda. We are all little fish swimming in the same ocean. Only the luckiest of us possess this knowledge and treat others accordingly.

            I’d just say, “No thanks. I got this.”