I have an old college buddy who won’t take the time to fish unless things are either perfect or damn close to it. I call him Goldilocks, and he hates me for it.
Last month, on a whim, I gave Goldilocks a ring. He’s one of the few people left who still answers his phone when you call, and he picked up within seconds.
“Hey. Want to fish tomorrow?” I asked quickly. I figured that rushing him into a decision was my best chance at the preferred result.
“Where? Up your way?” He asked.
“Didn’t you just get a pile of rain over the weekend?” He asked.
“Sure, but the creeks are coming down and the fishing has been fine,” I replied.
He paused and stammered for a moment. My fast pace was thrown off, and I already knew what was coming . . .