The master baiter

What does it say when a husband threatens to run with the bulls in Pamplona while on his honeymoon?

True story. Luckily, Mike came to his senses, decided not to run and was not gored senseless by bulls 10 days into newly-wedded bliss.

Fast forward 10 years later.

What does it say when a husband fishes in a pond, spies an alligator swimming like hell towards his line, but doesn't drop it and run away screaming in a zig-zag fashion like his wife and kids, but instead, continues to fish, but now resembles Marty Feldman with one eye on the bait, the other on the hungry gator?

Does it say he's brave? Does it mean he's the next Steve Irwin (in life)? That he's a dumb-ass despite the Duke MBA? That he's unsure about this wedding thing a decade later? Inquiring minds really want to know. Especially this one.

I herded the kids into the safehouse, grabbed a beer and went back to watch the next star of Faces of Death. I found my leading man casting away with the gator swimming his way. I frenetically suggested the zig-zag run, but Mike rolled his eyes and kept moving to a different spot on the banks. Fishing and grinning. Grinning and fishing. Baiting the gator.

"Stop TAUNTING him!" I shrieked. "Don't mess with wild animals. HE IS FASTER THAN YOU! GATORS EAT PEOPLE. OUR KIDS NEED A FATHER! WHAT ARE YOU DOING? AAAAAAAACK!" I short-circuited.

Mike kept fishing. No fish were biting. The gator kept following. I developed an ulcer, hid behind a park bench and sipped my frosty Fat Tire. I figured if the gator pounced, I could hurl the empty bottle at its head. If I was lucky, I'd hit a soft spot and save my husband who clearly had no interest in being saved. Hell, maybe I'd wind up with a new purse and shoes, too.

"YOU LOOK LIKE A HOT DOG TO HIM!" Holy hell. Did I just say that? I used to be a marketing whiz. I was Advertising Student of the Year at Syracuse U. And this -- likening my husband to a skin sack -- was the most persuasive argument I could make to get him to stop fishing? Wow, this SAHM thang really dulls the edges.

It was now pouring rain. Cars of people had stopped. They were pointing and staring. Mike kept casting and laughing. It was like watching a two-year old. He did it for the attention. I can't blame him. It's not every day people stop dead in their tracks to watch a master baiter in action.

End note: Mike, this post is payback for not running away in a zig-zag fashion like your moronic wife.


Izod Lacoste a lieu le rôder! Or whatever. I don't know French.