You have no doubt heard of football widows. Those are the ladies whose husbands spend all day on Sunday's and all night on Monday nights glued to the television watching every second of every football game they can. Those ladies do not know how great they have it. They know they can always find their husbands either in front of the own television set or at a neighbor's house watching the game with the guys. Football widows can curl up with a good book and a cup of tea on Sunday afternoons and never be disturbed. They can even leave the house for shopping or a movie and never be missed.

I, however, am a fishing widow. When I wake up on weekend mornings, hoping to cuddle up to the warm body of my husband, I find his side of the bed cold and empty. He's gone fishing. Gone are the days of having a weekend breakfast with the whole family. I no long sit on the porch swing enjoying a cup of coffee with my husband before our daughter wakes up. Instead, I sit alone on the porch, eventually fixing breakfast for just my daughter and myself.

Addicted to fishing, that's my husband. He used to get up early during the week to go running before work. Then, it occurred to him that if he had time to run, he had time to go fishing instead. When I asked him about his running, he reminded me that a person is only suppose to exercise every other day. Of course, there's the question that I get asked by him far too often. "Are we doing anything this weekend?" I know when that question comes, he probably wants to go fishing.

Most men can't wait for the first day of football season. My husband, on the other hand, eagerly awaits the first day of trout season. The day before, he scouts out what he believes is the best spot to fish the next morning. At 4:30 a.m., he rolls out of bed to head out. By dawn, when the season officially starts, he's out there and ready to make his first cast. But, when the sun finally rises, he discovers he's almost shoulder-to-shoulder with about a dozen other fishermen who all had the same idea as he did. As soon as one would catch their quota, they would move out of the way allowing the next man to take his place.

But wait, I shouldn't complain. When he brings home fish, he always cleans them himself and many times he takes our daughter and I with him on his trips. When we do go with him, he's glad we are along, except maybe when we cause him to lose "the big one." He's happy when he's out enjoying himself. So now, I say it with a smile, "He's gone fishing."