I have friends who love ice fishing. They are out there all bundled up before dawn and after dusk just for the thrill of pulling a skinny little fish out of the hole.
Me? I have to contemplate whether the joy of buying a hunk of fish more frozen than the ones in the lake is worth scraping the snow off the car to drive down to the Superstore. The whole idea of freezing precious parts of my anatomy to catch one from a frozen lake leaves me cold. Ice fishing is not my talent and I politely refuse even when friends try to pressure me into joining them. I don’t even feel guilty, which almost makes me feel guilty, but not quite.