Thursday, April 12, 2012


I've had a lot of jobs in my life. I've been a waitress, a hair stylist, a mom, a full time palace house keeper, but my latest job is by far the worst. I recently became a coroner....a dead fish coroner to be more specific.
I didn't want any fish. I have lived long enough to know what "getting some fish" really means. It means a slimy mess will live on your counter and you will add food daily and be on constant death watch. And that is basically what it's been. I have time to feed fish, but I never signed up for cleaning a fish tank. Of course Dave, like a little kid, claimed responsibility for the whole fish thing, but we all know that means I'm in charge of the fish. It's no biggie at first, but then the tank starts getting nasty. You quickly figure out that your fish are weird and before you know it, they start dropping like flies. I don't know anything about fish. I don't know if they can see in the dark. I don't know if they sleep. I can't tell the difference between an Angelina Jolie starving fish or a post Chili's visit gorged fish. How much do they really need to eat? Are they cold in my freezing house? These are the questions that plague my mind. I'm raising kids, and I don't want anymore responsibility than that...not even a house plant.
So we started with 3. A white one named Salt, a black one named Pepper and manic depressive spotted fish that we call Spot. Pepper died a week ago and thankfully Dave was home and I made him deal with that carcass. Sasha demanded that Pepper be buried in the that's what happened. Yesterday morning Salt appeared to be resting on Ariel's head (it's a Little Mermaid tank). I took that as a bad sign but during the day she started swimming around again. By bath time, she was dead or "debt" as Lyla says. Spot, our manic depressive fish, prefers to live out his days here in one particular corner of the tank. It's like he has put himself in the perpetual "time out corner". He moves around for a minute of two and then he goes immediately back to his corner. Unfortunately Salt decide to die above his corner and eventually sank down into Spots official corner. Spot is a stubborn SOB and he refused to move, despite the fact that a dead fish was now laying on top of him. It wasn't a cutesy, romantic situation. Like, "Oh Spot won't leave Salts side, even in death they are companions." It was clearly a,"You can be as dead as you like, but this is MY corner and that's the way it's gonna stay" situation. This made removing Salts body a real pain in the butt. I finally got Salt out and Sasha said, "I will cry forever if I hear that toilet flush! Don't flush it mom. I don't want Salt to spend her life with pee and poo!". I didn't think this was a good time to argue the "life" point with her. So Salt got a Ziplock bag, outside trash can burial. And you better believe I fear I'm going to hell for that one. I can't deal with fish anymore. I fully admit that I am too spazzy for fish.

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