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As you may or may not know, I’ve been having a problem keeping whatever white fish is in my tank alive, explained by this award-winning column that ran just a few days ago. I know, it’s already won like 12 awards. Weird …
Anyways, I’ve been playing a dangerous game of hide-and-seek with my daughter and her annoyingly-mortal pets, replacing them as they die so she won’t know. Because then she cries. And I can’t deal with that.
My kid is so bad, she saw a postcard over the weekend of a shark that had been caught by a fisherman – and became hysterical.
So before she came down from her mother’s house in Sacrameto on Friday, I replaced the last dead fish with a new, future-dead fish. I got it in the tank just before she arrived and figured I should at least be OK for the weekend.
Now know that I have other fish the same size and breed from the same store. But only the white ones die, unless they happen to be the size of an orca, like the biggest fish in my tank. They all eat, the water is clean … I don’t get it.
I’m glad I got up first Saturday morning. Because Mr. New Fish had become Mr. New Dead Fish.
I got him out of the tank and bagged him for my trip back to the fish store, where they were more than happy to replace him with a slightly bigger, more expensive fish once I ranted and threw myself on the floor. Because in America, we’re supposed to get what we pay for. Which actually doesn’t work because, for once, I didn’t pay.
Mr. New New Fish actually managed to stick it out until Monday morning, after my daughter left. Yes, I found him floating when I got up this morning. Yes, I questioned the other fish, who said they were watching the finale of “Entourage” and didn’t see anything.
For those counting at home, I think that’s six white fish we’ve gone through the past few months. There won’t be a seventh. When she notices, I’ll just say he ran away.
The past two weeks my 3-year-old daughter does something really … special … every morning when we get into the car to go to daycare. Read the rest of this entry »