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As you may remember awhile back, we bought fish as pets.
I still like them. They are moderately easy to care for and don’t make any noise.
There’s just one problem. We’ve been through about 10 of the little buggers since July. Obviously as fish owners…we suck.
“You’re feeding them too much”…”you’re feeding them too little”..”they need sunlight”….”don’t let sunlight by their tank”..”clean their tank one a week”…”don’t clean their tank once a week“…..frankly, this fish ownership gig is downright confusing.
My daycare lady just shakes her head at our fish follies. “Mine have been alive for years”, she says. YEARS……
I told her to give ’em to me. I’ll have them dead in a week (not on purpose, mind you).
And tears…oh my goodness the TEARS that are shed by a certain 6 year old boy every time one of his fish Bites The Big One. They say the first time you flush a fish is the hardest…ok…nobody says that. I just made it up.
We are thinking of buying stock in the Kleenex company.
Recently, this same 6 year old just left on weekend hunting trip with Daddy.
“Take care of my fish, Mommy”, were his final words as he trotted out of the house.
I knew in that instant…I was DOOMED.
Sure as heck, the next morning there was a friggin deceased fish in the %%$@@!! tank.
BUT..being the clever sort that I am, I made an emergency trip to Wal-Mart for a replacement. Although I am NOT a big fan of Wally-World, I will have to say I get the best service from the Fish Dudes in that store.
I think they just feel sorry for me.
I am waiting for them to offer me frequent flier miles.
Oh lucky day! There is ONE fish left that is right kind and size. Victory!
Sacked up and secure, I happily load my fish into my cart. I finish shopping and head for the checkout. The “20 items or less” lane is empty. ROCK ON. I pull in, smile politely at the cashier, and reach to pull my plump bag-o-water & fish from my cart..
Before you can say “gill plates” my precious fish is falling towards the floor. THE FLOOR.
The scene that followed will probably end up under the heading “The People Of Wal-Mart” on Utube somewhere…soon.
Need a preview? Picture this. Picture a chubby 43 year old mother standing in the checkout line shrieking “HELP! FISH EMERGENCY! HELP!” And doing it in a pool of water the size of Lake Erie.
Desperately I scoop up my poor fish and what’s left of the bag (which has about a tablespoons worth of water left) and deposit him inside.
An angel appears. No..it’s one of the Fish Dudes. It was either my hysteric cries for help that caught his attention, or the onslaught of water that’s creeping across the floor.
Leaping into action he seizes what’s left of my water bag and fish and begins to sprint back toward the Fish Department. With me shouting at the back of his head “whatever you do…I NEED THAT FISH!”.
I’m a class act. That’s for sure.
Minutes later he returns with my precious (effing) fish in a fresh bag of wa-wa. His face flushed and proud. He rocks. He is my new hero.
Flustered and embarrassed, I pay for the Increda-Fish (yes, the poor little bugger lived through all of this). The cashier giggles and asks what our new fish’s name is.
“Splat”, I answered without batting an eye. “His name is Splat”.
Days later, Beloved Son arrives home from his trip and immediately runs to greet his fish. After a few minutes he says “hey Mom. My black fish looks…weird”.
My heart stop and my palms get sweaty. “Why do you say that?”, I ask innocently.
“He’s got this weird mark on his side. I wonder what it is…?”
Road rash, I think silently to myself. It’s frickin Road Rash.