Newspaper Page Text
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The ADVANCE, January 17, 2024/Page 12A
There I was — chin
resting on the back of my
overlapped hands, lying
face down on a table cov
ered in crisp, white paper.
The sterile scent of disin
fectants lingered in the air,
and a white hot spotlight
beamed directly at my
booty. Apprehension hung
in the room as I waited.
How did I end up in
this precarious predica
ment? Allow me to explain.
My husband and
I were on a trip to the
mighty metropolis of Un
certain, Texas, population
85, a little fishing village
that sits on the banks of
Caddo Lake. We had jour
neyed the 11 hours to Un
certain in our camper van,
dragging Bill’s 29-foot
bass boat behind.
Bill hoped to catch
a trophy bass, and I
was eager to witness
and photograph the
russet hues of au
tumn in the cypress
bayous of Southeast
ern Texas.
Our first full day
began gloriously. I
photographed a stun
ning foggy sunrise
from the dock at Cad
do Lake State Park,
and Bill launched his
boat and cast his lines
into the lake’s black,
murky waters.
Around 2:30
p.m., Bill suggested I
go back out with him
on the boat in order
to see the lake from
a vantage point other
than the shoreline. We
spent a couple of hours
slowly winding our way
through the complicated
trail system of Caddo Lake
and ultimately made our
way to the Red River just
north of the state park.
He cut the motor, and I
stretched out across the
back deck of the boat to
steady myself on my el
bows while photographing
a long-legged heron fish
ing along the shore. Bill
picked up his rod and reel
and whipped a few casts
off the front of the boat. It
was a perfect afternoon —
side by side, admiring the
tranquility and beauty sur
rounding us, and both en
gaged in activities we love.
Eventually, Bill asked if
I was ready to head back to
The Shady Glade Marina
and Campground. I nod
ded yes and moved down
onto the back seat. Bill hit
the gas. The front of the
boat lunged upward out
of the water, and I decided
that I should move to my
usual seat for safety—front
left, behind the windshield.
As I slid from the back seat,
around the curved bench
seat, to the front however,
I felt an immediate sharp
pain in my butt region. I
reached toward the source
of the stinging sensation. I
touched something needle
sharp, pronged and me
tallic. Over the roaring of
the 250-horsepower Mer
cury, I screamed, “STOP!”
Bill brought the boat to
an abrupt halt and looked
back.
I stood, turned around
gingerly with my legs awk
wardly spread apart so he
could get a good look at
whatever was stabbing me.
“Oh,” he said with a subtle
hint of guilt and concern in
his voice.
“What is it?” I de
manded to know.
“It’s a crank bait,” he
said matter-of-factly.
“A WHAT?”
He cleared his throat
then added, “It’s a Strike
King KVD Square Billed
Silent Crank Bait with dual
treble hooks.”
For those of you who
may not know what I am
talking about, a large,
pronged fishing lure had
pierced my ass cheek, and it
wasn’t just any fishing lure.
This particular fishing lure
looked like a white and red
baby fish, with two hooks
dangling from the bottom,
and each of the two hooks
is a triple. That sucker had
a total of six barbed hooks
on it. Six! Count ’em! Six!
In an attempt to ana
lyze the situation and de
termine next steps, Bill got
down on his hands and
knees on the bottom deck
of the boat as to be eye lev
el with my pierced derriere.
“Bend over,” he said.
It was not the time for
modesty, so I attempted
to comply. Unfortunately,
when I moved, the Strike
King KVD Square Billed
Silent Crank Bait — with
its jagged barbs — im
planted deeper and deeper
into my delicate tushy.
It had pierced my denim
jeans, my favorite jeans, I
might add. The hooks had
plunged into my booty
flesh, essentially pinning
my jeans to me. With ev
ery tiny movement I made,
my jeans tugged it, and the
Strike King Square Billed
Silent Crank Bait pulled
and shoved the barbs deep
er into my glu-
I quickly became des
perate. Notwithstanding
the pain, I knew we had to
attempt to remove the dan
gling plastic fishy, so I bent
over placing my forearms
on the side of the boat with
my legs spread apart and
my ass sticking high up into
the air — a glorious sight
to behold, I’m sure. And
Bill, like a surgeon, tried
to extricate the Strike King
with a pair of old rusty nee
dle nose pliers he found in
the boat’s glove box.
It became clear that
there was no easy way to
remove this thing as it had
completely impaled the
flesh of my derriere. Again,
every slight movement, no
matter how small, caused it
to embed deeper.
“I can’t get it out,” Bill
finally uttered in surrender.
Then using the steadi
ness of a military bomb
tech and the rusty old pli
ers, he snapped off the
Bill and Audrey Andersen
teus maximus.
Strike King KVD Square Billed Silent Crank Bait with dual treble hooks.
dangly fish replica leaving
just one of the two treble
hooks lodged in my throb
bing tush.
I crawled slowly to my
usual seat (left front be
hind the windshield) and
carefully lowered myself
down onto my left cheek.
Bill once again hit the gas,
and for the next 45 min
utes, we sped through the
swampy Texas Bayous like
a bat outta hell, eventu
ally making our way to the
dock at the Shady Glade
Marina and Campground.
I already knew that
standing, sitting and mov
ing caused the barbs of
the Strike King KV Square
Billed Crank Bait to plunge
deeper into my bootay, but
oh baby, let me tell you,
making the giant step up
from the boat to the dock
... that was a real doozy!
I moved awkwardly
through the parking lot
and stepped up into our
sprinter van — one giant
step for man, one extreme
ly painful step for a woman
with a Crank Bait stuck in
her ass cheek. Bill drove as
I balanced delicately on my
left cheek only.
I called ahead to the
Emergency Room at
Christus Good Shepherd
Medical Center in Mar
shall Texas. When the re
ceptionist answered I said
“Are y’all able to remove a
fishing lure from my ass?”
Well, that is what I intend
ed to say, but realizing how
ridiculously funny that
sounded I began to laugh
uncontrollably and was
not able to continue the
conversation.
Bill grabbed the
phone, posed the question
and after consultation by
the medical staff, they told
us to come on.
So, as Bill navigated the
highway, I had time to fur
ther reflect on the events of
the afternoon. It was clear
to me that my current pre
dicament was caused by a
fishing lure being left out
of its tackle box, and some
people may find it difficult
to believe that at this point,
I was not mad at Bill for his
failing to stow the lure in a
safe place. I realized that it
was a simple accident, and
I actually found the whole
ordeal somewhat funny.
But Bill, sensing that I
was further evaluating the
cause of this accident—
trying to make sense of
the painful predicament
— went into full defense
mode, and my good nature
was about to be tested.
Let me interject here:
Bill is a great guy, and he
has many, many wonderful
attributes and qualities, but
what I am about to tell you
is an undisputed fact - The
word “sorry” is not in his
vocabulary.
And an apology was
not necessary. I knew that
he probably felt bad, and
he was doing all he could to
get me to the ER as quickly
as possible. I was not even
a tiny bit irritated — at this
point in the story.
We raced west on
Texas Highway 43, me on
my left cheek and hanging
on to the armrest for dear
Please see Crankbait
page13A
Sealed Bid - City of Vidalia Property
Water Meters
(These are meters that were previously installed
and have been replaced)
Sealed bids along with the information requested below will be accepted
by City of Vidalia City Manager, William Bedingfield, until 11:00 a.m. on
February 1, 2024, at which time bids will be opened at Vidalia City Hall,
302 E First Street, Vidalia, GA.
Water meters: Brass-bodied meters with plastic heads. Vast majority of
these meters are 5/8” x %” meters. There are approximately 6,000+ meters
on-hand that will be sold as a group.
Each bid must be accompanied by the following when submitted:
1. Total bid price to purchase the property, minimum bid is required to
start at $25,000
2. Ability to close and make payment in full within thirty (30) days of
award
These are SEALED BIDS and must be addressed to CITY MANAGER,
WILLIAM E BEDINGFIELD, 302 E FIRST STREET, VIDALIA, GA 30474.
All bids must be received by 11:00 a.m. on February 1, 2024. Bids can be
hand-delivered in a sealed, clearly marked envelope. NO emailed or faxed
bid will be accepted.