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What a Fish Guy Knew: “Your whiting is not a bad dude”
But never trust a flounder
A lot of women automatically swipe left on any man who’s holding a fish in his profile picture.
I swipe right, every time. A man with a big fish has shown he’s a provider, and a provider of omega-3 fatty acids at that. If he can nourish my brain function, improve my skin health, and reduce my risk of heart disease, then he increases his chance of a stroke.
And if he works on a fishing boat, that’s even better. He might be away at sea for days at a time, but he’ll come back horny as hell and ready to bone: all I have to say is ‘Fill it!’, and he’ll be in there quick as a knife.
Jake was my first fish guy. He worked on a trawler out of Newlyn, and he taught me a lot. Mostly stuff about fish, to be fair, because he wasn’t what you’d call an adventurous lover, but the fish stuff was quite cool.
“Your wrasse,” he said, “Are the grandmothers of the sea: small, frail, and always either cleaning or looking after the youngsters. But your mackerel are teenagers, kidding on they’re strong by cutting about in gangs and flashing their bling; they all think they’re going to be tuna when they grow up.
“Your cod are basically good guys: mild-mannered, but a bit flaky. Haddock are more reliable…
