Mrs Langtrees Knickers? Wishy Washy? And the Fish come? WTF???

So this comes up one night at Langtrees — and I can’t even remember what the original conversation was, but Mrs Langtrees was there, which usually means things are about to go in all directions.

She’d already put a fair dent in a bottle of Lagavulin. Not sipping. Proper pours. The kind where the glass is basically a suggestion.

She’s standing there smiling — that smile that says don’t encourage me but also please encourage me — and someone says something about New Zealand. Or boats. Or work back in the day. One of those.

And Maryanne goes, “Oh Christ, that reminds me…”

Now if you’ve ever heard her tell a story, you know she doesn’t rush. She pauses. Takes another drink. Makes sure everyone’s looking.

So she starts talking about when she was working in New Zealand, dozens of moons ago. Ships would dock. Big fishing boats. Japanese fishermen. Proper long-haul blokes who’d been at sea for months.

Apparently there was this one captain. Not a metaphor — an actual captain. Hat, authority, the whole thing. And for some reason — luck, taste, fate, who knows — Maryanne was his favourite.

Every time they docked, he’d come see her. Always polite. Always respectful. Always with a gift. Little things. Chocolate. Booze. Bits and pieces he’d picked up somewhere between ports. Nothing creepy about it, according to her. Just… odd.

Anyway, one visit, he gives her the gift like usual. Then he hesitates. Says he has a question. Maryanne’s telling this with a grin now. Because she knows exactly where it’s going.
He asks her for her panties.

Whole table reacts. She says she does the logical thing — goes and gets him a new pair. Fresh out of the packet. Hands them over like, there you go, mate.
He looks at them and goes, “No. No no.” She’s like, “What’s wrong with them?” And he says, “No new. I want used.”

Now at this point Maryanne’s laughing, and half the people at Langtrees are already losing it. She asks him why, because again — fair question.

And he tells her, dead serious, that she brings good luck. That he wants to take her used panties back on the boat, wash them in the sea — “wishy washy”, that’s how she said it — because then the fish will come. Big fish. Best fish. Apparently her undies were going to be some sort of floating good-luck charm for seafood.

She’s telling this while refilling her glass, absolutely delighted with herself. 
I don’t know if he caught the biggest fish. I don’t know if the panties worked. I don’t even know if any of this makes sense.
What I do know is that by the end of the story, the Scotch was gone, everyone was crying laughing, and it felt exactly like a Langtrees night should feel.

Which is to say: slightly inappropriate, very funny, and impossible to explain properly the next day.

That’s it.

Author: Master Yoda
For: Langtrees.com

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