There is a goldfish in my house. Supermangirl brought it home from day camp in a plastic bag, all flush with excitement because she had won it at the carnival. I had nothing to put it in, so right now it's swimming at the bottom of an old plastic lemonade pitcher. The camp told the girls that they could feed the fish breadcrumbs, and Wonderwoman recalled hearing that goldfish eat lettuce, so there are now unpleasant lumps of bread and lettuce floating at the top of the water. The fish is really tiny, it must be a baby, so I warned Supermangirl that these fish don't live for very long and that she shouldn't grow attached to it. So of course I find her bent over the pitcher this morning, cooing and clucking at the fish, trying to "get its attention". Right before she left this morning, I heard her whisper, "I love you, Fishy."
I really don't think that Fishy is long for this world. I have absolutely no knack or desire at all for caring for pets or for plants. In my opinion, the only living things that should be allowed to enter my house should be humans. My kids have been bugging me forever to get them a dog. Uh-uh, no way. I don't want the added responsibility, mess, noise, or expense of caring for a pet. My children already provide all the responsibility, mess, noise, and expense that I can handle.
And so I am not running out to the pet store to buy a fish bowl, filter, fish food, or orange plastic fish castle. Fishy is staying in the lemonade pitcher. He'll just have to sink or swim. It's up to God at this point.
the red and black - For many Junes, this was my favorite cocktail. Yes, I realize that I sound particularly like a weird food writer person and not a person who lives among ...
6 hours ago