Is Friday night date night, or time to go out fishing?

Back when I first started dating my husband, Friday and Saturday nights were reserved for dates. You know, going to the movies or a resturant. Sometimes, friends had parties at their homes and that was enough to qualify as a date. Now that we are older and have children, date nights have fallen by the wayside.

Unless you have a bromance going with your fishing buddies.

Then, you get, this conversation. I didn't crack the code until watching an old rerun of "Everybody Loves Raymond." Then I realize men do this with golf, hunting, fishing, poker or just to hang out anywhere but with their families. I have to say, my husband doesn't pull this very often. But he did last night, so I have to vent.

"Jim* and Bob* are meeting up at the pier with some other guys for night fishing."
"Do you want to go?"
"Nah, I don't really want to deal with people right now. I think I'm just going to stay home." (Translation: I am in a bad mood because I really want to go with my friends, but I can't, so I am going to be grumpy at home with you.)
"Well, why don't you go for just a little bit." (Translation: Stop bothering me about this. I know you want to go, but need permission, so let's stop playing games. You go, I can be the great wife and we'll all be happy.)
"You think? Oh, but I promised you guys I would hang around here tonight. And besides, I've made plans with Mark to go out in the morning."
"Yeah, but you don't see Jim and Bob that often. We're not doing anything here. I think you should go."
At these words, you would have thought the magic fishing fairy had suddenly given my husband rocket jets for legs. He was changed into his fishing outfit and packed his tackle box before I had a chance to realize I'd been played.
"OK, I'll go. I won't be gone long. I'm really tired," he said with a sigh.
Meanwhile, four hours later, I'm still on the couch by myself reading my Kindle (which said husband bought for me for Christmas, so he's not all bad.) This "won't be gone long" turned out to mean "I'll be home around 1 a.m."
Sigh. What he doesn't know is that during that time, I slowly plotted my own girls' night out with MY friends. After all, I was just taught how to perfectly execute the plan, and get my spouse's permission.

Picking up the right lure for the fishing husband, do not try this at home

One of my weekly duties is to go grocery shopping at Wal-Mart. I love Wal-Mart because I can pick up everything there in one stop and for a lot less money than at other stores. But the problem with Wal-Mart is that it also sells fishing equipment. Including hundreds of different types of lures.

As I was ready to leave for my shopping trip, my husband asked if I could pick up a lure for him at Wal-Mart. I knew I was in trouble. But he got me at a weak moment -- keys and shopping list in hand, child in the car. I agreed.

He wrote down the information -- brand, type, etc. Then he described it to me. "It's the one I used to get that big grouper the other week," he started.
 "Huh?" I asked. "I didn't notice."
"Sure, I pointed it out to you. It's got red and purple and a feather on it? I told you it was my favorite," he explained.
Well, yes, I sometimes do go with my husband and child to fish along the shore. But even if I'm holding a pole, I never look at the lure. They're all the same to me.
He finally disappeared into the utility room/tackle shop and emerged with one. "Here," he said. "Take this with you and just get one like it. Exactly like it."

So, list in hand, off I went. I got the groceries I needed and then, with a sigh, headed to the fishing department. As luck would have it, there were no workers around. I was on my own. I started searching the aisle. I found four "exactly" like the one he gave me. Which is the one he wanted?

After about 20 minutes of debating over which lure to buy, I noticed a man further down the aisle looking at lures, so I tried getting help. "Excuse me, please. But which of these lures are exactly like this one?" I asked.

This was no help. He started talking a different language -- fishingese -- asking whether my husband wanted to use it for fresh or salt and what type of line he had and at what speed would the wind be blowing (OK, I made the last question up, but you get the idea). I gave up.
I picked the one I thought matched the lure my husband gave me and headed home.
Of course, it was the wrong one.
I told my husband the next time HE could get his own lures. And crossed "fishing lure" off my shopping list for good. :)

Fishing widow to the rescue!

"Do we have any ammonia?" my breathless husband said on the other end of the phone.
"Huh?" I asked, not knowing what he meant. I was on my way out the door, having a grocery list of items to get before heading to back-to-back child birthday parties with our son. For my husband, that meant he had a day to himself. Because, he explained, he wasn't expected to attend the birthday parties. So, while I was off having my fun of finding two thoughtful gifts, cards and wrapping paper before heading off to more fun of squealing children, pizza lunches, bounce houses and cake, he was getting his fishing kayak loaded into the truck.

A free day for him.

My husband has the uncanny ability to know the precise moment when I am ready to head out the door. Because, if he is out fishing, that is when he usually calls me. I think it makes him feel less guilty if he checks in from time to time.

This morning was no exception. After I spent the past 15 minutes hurrying our child to get socks and shoes on his feet and was about to leave, the phone rang. Of course, it was my husband, calling from his kayak.

"Do we have any ammonia?" he asked.

"I don't know, why?"

"I got stung by a catfish," he said. "I need it to take out the sting."

From a city girl's perspective, that sounded pretty bad. I have to admit, I never realized that catfish could sting anyone. But apparently the slime on their spines can stick into a person like a needle. These are saltwater catfish, annoying to the Florida fisherman because you can't eat them and they usually take your bait when you're trying to get snook or some other good fish.

When these catfish sting, it hurts, and it can cause an infection if not treated right away. My husband was ready to head into his truck and drive himself back to the house. This, after telling me he felt a little dizzy. I had never encountered this before. In the 12 years I've known him, he's never been stung before.

"No," I said. "Wait there, I'll bring what I can."

I corralled my child into the car, armed with alcohol. I couldn't find ammonia. When I found him, he was applying chewing tobacco to the sting, which didn't look nearly as badly as I imagined it would look.

"That's disgusting. When did you start using that?" I sneered, annoyed at the stuff he was putting into his mouth.

"But this is the best thing for stings like this. You should be grateful I had it with me," he protested.

I had to admit, the tobacco seemed to take the sting out, and helped stop the bleeding and swelling. So, I was grateful -- a little. I still was grossed out when he started spitting. Yuck!

I drove him back home and took him to the store for some ammonia, trying not to look at the clock and sigh at how far off my schedule I was now.

When we got back home, he said he was feeling better. I could go about my day,  he said.

But first, could I please drive him back to his fishing spot so he could go back out on the water?

Yes, like a true supportive fishing widow, I took him back so he could finish his day of fishing. Sigh.

Don't forget the date -- hunting dates to remember in Florida!

When you are married to a hunter, there are a few dates that should be in the forefront of your brain at all times. I'm not talking about your wedding anniversary or birthdays. No, all good hunting widows always should know when their spouses need to put in for hunting permits. Do not forget these dates. Because if your husband relies on public hunting grounds to set up his tree stands, and if your husband does not put in for hunting wildlife management permits, your husband's entire hunting season is ruined. At least, that's the way it is in Florida.

You can be your man's heroine forever if you save his hunting season. For those in Florida, the state Fish and Wildlife Commission has changed times for hog hunts. See here for those dates. Basically, hog hunters have until April 12 to get in their requests for special hog hunts. With the FWC rule that hunting permits aren't transferable (meaning he can't get a permit from his buddy), it's crucial hog hunters put in for their permits now.

Permit drawing for deer hunting isn't until June.

Putting in for hunting permits is a lot more simplified than it used to be. When I first met my husband, hunting permits had to be mailed to the state on special forms you picked up at the tag office. Apparently the state discounted any form that had smudges or wasn't filled out perfectly because my husband used to get about 100 of these speical forms in case he made a mistake. I sometimes wondered if he dated me only because of my handwriting, because every season he always asked me to fill out his forms. Seriously, he spent more time and was more anal about these forms than he was about addressing our wedding invitations.

Once, I was put in charge of mailing these precious forms. Somehow, I accidentally dropped some of these forms in between my car seat. My husband had a serious meltdown when he checked online and his forms hadn't been received yet. "Did you mail them?" he asked. This was our first major fight. "Of course I mailed them," I retorted, hurt that he didn't trust me over what I considered a trivial matter -- we hadn't been married very long, so I was a bit naive. We checked my car. When my husband found the unmailed envelopes with the permit applications in behind the seat, I swear I thought I was heading for divorce court. He was that mad. He considered driving up to hand-deliver the applications, but realized he still had some time. My marriage was saved when he got his first-choices that year anyway. Whew!

Once drawing results were announced a few months later, our phone then would start ringing. And ringing.
"What you get?" his hunting buddies would ask him. Then would begin an hour-long discussion on what hunts he had permits for and what ones he needed, and what kind of a trade could be had. If my husband were out, sometimes they would ask me. "So, what did he get?" It took me a few times to figure out what they were talking about. Most of the time, I would just play dumb because I really didn't want to start talking about hunting permits with my husband's hunting buddies.

Now, with the new non-transferable rule, the calls don't come. My husband can't trade permits with his friends. If he doesn't get the hunts he wants, he mopes around for days. And complains about it with his friends. Putting in for hunting permits is a lot easier, though. Everything is done on the Internet. Just fill out the forms online and you're done. My writing hand is grateful to the state for that.

Sometimes, it's not so bad being a fishing widow in Florida. Tagging along when your husband goes fishing at sundown means you get to see views like this. This was taken at the north side of the Sebastian Inlet. The fish were biting -- don't ask me what kind, I never can tell the difference between a blue fish and a flounder -- so my son and I walked around a little while my husband cast his line in the water. The scenery was beautiful. And I got some ideas from other fishing widows. One woman looked content as she read a book in a comfortable folding beach chair that had its own covering to keep out the sun and rain. She sat beside her husband who had about a dozen fishing poles on the jetty. Another woman was being taught how to cast a line by her significant other. And then there were others like me who were armed with cameras taking pictures of the sights.

So, if there are other fishing widows out there reading these words, what do you think? Do you go out fishing with your husband? What do you do when you're tagging along with him?

Shopping with the hunter/fisherman -- he'll be in the "toy" department, that means sporting goods

When I was a kid, my brothers and I didn't mind going to the department store with my mom. As soon as we entered the front door, we'd say in unison, "Mom, can we meet you at the toys?" Then we would skedaddle off to meet up with the 50 or so other kids in the toy department to oogle at the cool toys we could only get from Santa. Of course, that was before the sex offenders started stalking the toy departments making such activities no longer safe for children. At least, those under the age of 18.

My husband, apparently, also headed off to the toy department when he was a kid. Trouble is, he never outgrew this. He still says, as soon as we walk in the front doors of Wal-Mart, to the Mom in the group, "I'll meet you in the toys." Of course, he doesn't mean toys. He means the sporting goods department, where his toys are now fishing lures, hunting gadgets, and assorted items. He doesn't always buy anything, most of the time he just looks. It's sad when the sporting goods department staff -- all of them -- know him by first name.

While he is off chatting with other fisherman, hunters or whoever else wanders aimlessly into his vicintiy, I have to do the shopping alone with our young son. About 20 minutes into our shopping trip, he'll wander over to find us and say, "You ready to go yet?" If I say no, he'll wonder what I've been doing and why I haven't managed to fill the shopping list yet.

Other times, I have to go find him. I usually don't have to do much searching. I know right where to look, and he's usually talking with someone about hunting, fishing, the Florida he remembers as a kid before it got over-developed and where his last fishing trip was.

Then, just like my mom did when I was a child, I have to drag him out of the store.

What to do on nights/weekends/afternoons you turn into a fishing or hunting widow

My husband fully disclosed his love for fishing and hunting when we were dating. It was a bit of a shock, I had never known any hunters outside of the movies. I don't think I really understood what it meant. When you're dating, having a few nights off here and there to do your own thing is good, healthy even. A lot of my husband's hunts back then coincided with my visits with parents or holidays. So, I didn't notice.

Once we got married, his absence became more noticeable. And at first, I was lonely while he was off hunting with his buddies, or fishing for the weekend.

But I learned to adapt. While I was invited to come along most of the time, there were those "serious" hunts where no women were allowed. I actually started looking forward to those weekends as a chance to have "me" time. I'd rent those sappy romantic movies that my husband hated and equip myself with special ice cream or cake and some wine. As soon as I could get our son to sleep, I'd settle in for a quiet night all to myself. OK, some might see this as pathetic, but for me, it was peaceful.

I didn't realize how much I enjoyed these nights until the one night when I had just settled down to watch "Ever After" and had my bowl of strawberry cheesecake ice cream while lavender candles quietly burned. Suddenly, my husband burst into the room, extinguishing the candles and replacing the soothing lavender scent with pine and campfire smoke.

"What are you doing here?" I shrieked. "Aren't you supposed to be hunting?"

"It's pouring rain at camp," he said, a hint of disgust in his voice. (I couldn't tell if it was because of the rain that ruined the hunt or because I wasn't really ecstatic to see him.) "The hunt's ruined, and I figured I might as well come home and be with you guys."

He seemed hurt that I didn't jump up and greet him with kisses. But I was a little disappointed, something that surprised me as well. I guess I didn't realize how much I had come to enjoy my time alone. And that maybe it wasn't so bad to be a hunting widow at times, at least when I have a romantic movie and ice cream to keep me company.

Oh, that night, I shared my ice cream with my husband. And he watched the movie with me. He didn't even complain once.