Fishing With Dad

Wow, Duncan was right when he guessed Dad would be taking me fishing (in the comments to my last post). Good spying, Dunc! Oh, but could you stop spying? That'd be great, thanks!

NEway, I don't usually care much about fishing, because just about every other time we've gone, it's been all about sittin' around doing pretty much nothing while Dad makes puns, tells me stories about trains an' teeth, and catches fish while I get nothing. So finally things go my way. Mine, mine, mine! Ha ha ha! Well, ok, I guess I was pretty excited about this for a little bit there. Dad even seemed happy for me most of the day. But then just as we were leaving, his whole mood turned, and suddenly he was all mad, like you could almost imagine a big storm cloud in his thoughts, if u cd even see some1's thoughts. What's the dealio, Dad? He was like that the whole way home. When I told Liz about it, she put her finger to her lips like "shhhhh" and got out one of her psych books from university. She opened to the page on "bipolar disorder" and raised her eyebrows. Could she be onto something there?

Meanwhile, I heard Mom asking Dad where all those fish were, cuz she'd like to cook them up. Dad's voice was so quiet I couldn't hear it, but I cdn't miss Mom's answer: "You did WHAT? You threw them BACK?!? Of all the bone-headed, idiotic Patterson things to do. You march right outside and go to the store, cuz now I'm craving me some seafood! GO!!!"

Uh-oh. . . . Sounds like Mom's rounding us up again, for "training". Gotta go.

Apes out