The Fisherman’s Dwarf

They don’t call me a fisherman.  I’m more of a fish monger.  Catching them can be exciting, cooking them is fun, and eating them is delightful.  Perhaps it is a silly metaphor, but it reminds me of the only brother who won’t be participating in a weekend fishing trip.  Exciting, delightful and fun would properly describe him.

Not only younger than my six brothers, I’m also shorter in size, strength, wit, generosity, public humiliation, and I wear a size nine shoe…on a good day.

Heading on this fishing trip with five of my older brothers, one of my brothers wasn’t invited, because we simply don’t like him and find his company disagreeable.  That’s nothing further from the truth.  His excuse for not partaking in our potentially angling mess is excusable. Sadly, he is the one who ties all of our knots and makes fishing, or anything, for that matter,  fun.

They call him Steve.


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