Early this morning I hopped into the car and headed off in the rain to pick up a cheap cup of coffee at the convenience store about a mile away. While I pulled in to park, right in front of me, a man with a sharp looking chapeau and a large dog stood there, staring at me. I got out of the car, came up to him, and said “Good morning,” hoping to find out what his problem was.

“Hey,” he said, “you got a couple of lures or something on your roof there.”

I turned around, and, sure enough, I did. I had put them up there late last night, assuming that by doing, I couldn’t help but remember to throw them in the car on my way out the next morning.

“I think you’re fishing in the wrong spot, but good luck,” he said, and walked off.

I may have caught a couple of ignorant trout last week, but that doesn’t make me a fisherman all of a sudden.