Hate fish, always have, always will. Even when I ate meat, I hated fish, probably because I, as the youngest, was always the designated fish cleaner when we went fishing as a family. The only part I liked was throwing the "floater" back into the water. Ugh.
Here's my funny SF story: circa 1967, my father, the Army General, had to go to the Presidio to review some troops. He took me along, the first time I had ever been there. We were driven around town in a stretch limo (don't ask me why the Army had one, but they did), and my Dad asked the limo driver, who was probably a PFC, to go down Lombard Street. In a stretch limo. Of course, the PFC did, no questions asked, and he did a damned fine job of it, too. So fine, in fact, that the bratty General's son (that would be
moi 
) asked him to do it again. And again. And again. And again. We spent a whole afternoon going down Lombard Street, driving around to the top and doing it again.
