The Old and Bitter

YOURS TRULY: I need that signed document as soon as possible.

THE IMPETUOUS: I sent it two weeks ago via Priority Mail.

YOURS TRULY: Ok…thanks.

[two minutes eleven seconds later]

THE IMPETUOUS: Have you checked your mail in the last two weeks?!

YOURS TRULY: Uh…I’ve been fishing.

[nine seconds later]

THE IMPETUOUS: That’s what I thought.

YOURS TRULY: Hmm…almost sounds like nagging.

THE IMPETUOUS: I hereby declare that is precisely what it is.


The old and bitter hold steadfast on the shop floor, waxing irritably of bygone days i.e. before anglers wore Buffs on the rivers. Then claim they are the reason Buffs exist to begin with. The audience would rather choose their flies and GTFO. Sitting at the bench, mumbling to yet another derivation of the RS2, dreams of book contracts dance in their heads. Only five copies will ever sell. Damn that YouTube.

No time to sum up a fishing story. Because there isn’t one. Gas prices are too high, enthusiastic friends are few, and/or the lawn needed mowing.

THE OLD AND BITTER: You put in as much time as I have and you would be old and bitter too.

NOT SO INNOCENT BYSTANDER: Not a chance. Nobody is getting dragged into that grave you’re digging but yourself.

The rest are having the times of their lives, casually deferring the tales to those that can tell them better. Getting hassled for having so much fun, and finding fun in that too.

MG signing off (because Chupacabras exist, and so do old, bitter fly anglers)


Rex says:

I believe you’ve stumbled upon a right of passage for those who proudly once exclaimed that the “Class of 1986” rules!

Let me set you straight my old and bitter friend. And please forgive me if my view point is somewhat tainted since I spend my weeks (50-60 hours at least) slaving away in a Dilbert style cube world of a Fortune 500 company. I think you live the life of Riley!

And I only thought I was old and bitter. Oh how wrong I was – more on that in a minute. Here are corrections to your story.
1) Buffs came into existence because of Survivor (maybe I spend to much time watching tv and not enough reading?),
2) One of the Egyptians first popular forms of religion simply believed that the test to pass into the afterlife one only had to answer 2 questions: 1) How much fun did you have? and 2) How much fun did you brings to others in your life? The sum total determined your fate. I think your a shoe in!
3) My 6 year old son provided me clarity one day on my status in life. I firmly believed I was aligned with the “old and bitter” camp. I was only half right. One evening after work, my wife and I were sitting at the kitchen counter when my son comes in crying. After a brief inquiry, it was determined that his mood was due to a big strawberry on his knee suffered from a basketball injury sustained from playing outside with his older sister and some neighborhood kids. My wife informed him of the need for medical treatment (i.e. a squirt of bactine) at which point he started crying ever more loudly. His concern was rooted in the fact that Bactine can sting when applied at which point my wife explained to him that Dad would never cry like this if he had a strawberry and needed medical treatment. At that point, my son calmed himself, swallowed hard, and stared directly into my wife’s eyes and in exacerbation stated, “Well what do you expect, he’s a grizzled old man!”.

From the mouth of babes comes the truth. And apparently we are firmly entrenched in the “old” camp but the good news is that we aren’t bitter. We are simply grizzled from decades of wear and tear and old war wounds from bygone days.

The Grizzled Old Man

No “old and bitter” here, but my oh my I do love mocking all of you.

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