He Made Me Do It

At the end of June, Mark spent seven days in Canada fishing with my dad, grandpa, and uncle. I was so proud of him for participating in the new and slightly uncomfortable experience. I was also thankful that he had a great time. So great, in fact, that he has since purchased his very own fishing pole.

However, I have to admit that I was not thrilled when he came home with several beheaded, de-boned, ready-to-cook fish fillets.

This week, we had some friends over for dinner. I had a nice little Italian meal planned, but Mark decided that this would be the perfect time for a fish fry. I was not too happy about that. So while I worried about what my house was going to smell like and if fried walleye goes with manicotti, Mark cut, battered, and fried the fish.


Me and my world's-most-sensitive-nose stood by and tried not to gag.

To top the event off, I was guilted and forced into trying the finished product. The itty-bitty-teenie-tiny piece I tried really wasn't too bad.




In the end, our friends liked the fish, our dinner was just fine, and my house only smelled bad for three days.