Ichthyophobia - The fear of fish.
Weird, eh? I know.
Hey boys & girls - Scrubbie here. How are ya'll ce soir? (that's French - our other official language in the Great White)
The fear of fish. This wee blog of mine has become many things. A showcase of my digi-scrappin' activities. A report of daily activities. A reflection on the art and science of bein' a hubby and dad. The never ending drama of being a brother, son, in-law, cousin, uncle, nephew and friend. Hell - sometimes - it's nothin' more than the ramblings of a person with a penis. (giggle - I said "penis") Like the tag line of my title says - "A guys perspective on everything including scrapbooking." So - what does all of this have to do with ichthyophobia? Well - nothing really.
Well - something. You see - Scrubbie... he don't like fish. Nope - not in any way, shape or form. The devil's spawn. In a word - blech.
Eeeeewwww - I can't even BEGIN to tell you how much I hate fish. The look of 'em. The smell of 'em. Nasty little buggers.
Throw me in a lake and you'll actually get to see a grown fella sweat in water. (A grown fella with INCREDIBLE pectorals - but a grown fella none-the-less)
Nope - don't like 'em at all.
Eat fish? Oh hell no. But, thanks for askin'.
Here's the kicker though. Aquariums - don't mind 'em. In fact, kinda like 'em. The gurgling. The light. The serenity of it all. Ya - I do kinda like 'em. Even had one or two in my life.
(This is where Mama Scrubbie is cringing cause when Scrub and his baby bro were wee little farts - they drove a riding car - one of those "plunk a kid in it and they pedal their little arse's off pretending to be race car drivers - ya.. one of those. Anyway - they drove one of those right into the 35 Gallon tank in the living room where all 35 gallons of fishy water and all the beasties in it came a-crashing down onto the 1970's shag rug. Yep. Icky, huh?)
Had one when Scrub was an adult too. The wife and I had a tank when we lived in the boomin' metropolis of Brantford, Ontario. Ya - go ahead... google it. Brantford - home of Wayne Gretzky and Alexander Graham Bell. Ya know - the phone dude. Ya, him. Anyway - we lived there for a while. So - our fishtank.... had a bunch of devil spawn in there. Here's somethin' weird. Kinda X-file's-ish. My cuzin whom I shall henceforth call Dolphin, would come to visit. He's a Brantford boy. When he would come to visit - one of the beasties would invariably end up floatin' upside down. Dolphin wasnt pouring bleach in the water or anything. Seriously. But - it seemed like everytime he came over - dead fish. Somebody call Mulder and Sculley.
I know what you are askin' yourself. How, on earth, did Scrubbie deal with a tank when he is so - well, just so BLECH about fish? The wife. LOL. Yep - the wife had to stick her hand in there. I wouldn't. Gawd only knows what those little buggers would do if i did. Nope - won't take the chance.
And, my fish thing - well known amongst those that know and love Scrubbie in the flesh. Went canoeing along the Grand River (go ahead.... google it. I'll keep writing. You can catch up later) a few years ago. Well - quite a few years ago. Anyway - my buddy - Logan - he and I were canoodooling along there when Satan himself jumped right out of the water and shot across the bow on the canoe - only inches from Scrubbie. (All seems to fit, doesn't it. Scrubbie. Great White North. Canoeing. The whole bit - all very Canadian, isn't it?) Anyway - Logan saw this. As did Scrubbie. And, there were others with us in other canoes. They all saw it too. EVERYONE stopped immediately and there was DEAD silence. They were all waiting to see what Scrub would do. Time ticked along for what seems like forever. Until... Scrubbie yelled - OH MY GAWD! Pity? Sympathy? Nah - not these jokers. They all just burst into hysterics. Shitheads. (Scrub's gotta put a Quarter in the quarter jar. He said "burst")
Swimming? Well, as you know - here in the Great White, we are blessed with oodles of H2O that is all natural like. Lakes, oceans, puddles and ponds. Fish in all of 'em. Ya - not too keen on all that. Fortunately - in the Great White - somebody came up with a wonderful idea of pourin concrete into a hole, fillin it with H2O and dumping enough chlorine into it the bleach coal. Ya - now THATS what Scrub calls a swimmin hole. Even better if it's warm enough to steep tea.