Now, before I begin, let's get something straight. I am generally a lover of all living creatures.
Okay, now that we have that straight, I have this goldfish you see:
And this goldfish became a member of our family when CR won it at her school's fall festival last September. And let's get another thing straight. I was not present when this goldfish was acquired. I would have never ever let her play a game where a goldfish is the prize. Hell no. I've learned my lesson. I've gone down that path before. I'm no sucker. But her grandparents are.
So when CR brought this little fishy home after her outing with her grandparents, she gave me the typical song and dance that all 6-year-olds do about how she's gonna feed it and help me clean the plastic box it came in, yada, yada, blah, blah. Not only am I not a sucker, I'm no fool. I knew how it was gonna all shake down.
And shake down it has. Along with mama's breakdown.
Along with the dude, the three kids, the two dogs, I now have this fish. This damn fish. And absolutely NO ONE but me does anything about this fish. I mean, CR did care enough at the beginning to "decorate" the plastic fish box with stickers that say "Totally Hot" and "It's All About Me" and the irony of that last sticker is just too much for me. Everyone in my family has totally forgotten this "hot" fish is alive even though it sits on our kitchen counter for all to see. I know it's alive 'cause I'm the one to clean up all that fish shit. Is there anything more disgusting than all that floating fish shit? Ewwwwww. It really sicks me out.
Every day I wake up hoping to find little goldie, whom we have not even named by the way because no one cares enough, floating sideways. Meaning belly up. Dead. Gone. See ya.
And everyday that damn fish is still cruising around his depressing little plastic container no matter how dirty I let it get or how many days I let pass without feeding him. It's tough to admit but I think I'm really trying to kill him. But gently. I wouldn't go as far as to flush him down the toilet or accidentally drop him into the garbage disposal (oh geez, that's harsh) when I'm changing his water.
So this week while cleaning up after dinner, I said to my dude, "I can't believe this fish will not die." Now me and my dude never talk about the fish. No one acknowledges the fish's existence. This fish is only in my head and on my to-do list. I am the one to agonize over wishing I could kill the fish but feeling way too guilty to actually follow through.
My dude responded - "You want the fish to die?"
"Hell yes! I'm the only one who takes care of it. I'm the only one even thinking about it. It's just another responsibility and I have too much on my plate anyway!" (now if I didn't have this BLOG, I might be able to take care of the fish.)
"Okay honey," he says to me. "I'll take care of it."
"What? What do you mean?" I ask with a tinge of worry in my voice.
"Let's just say don't be surprised if you find the fish has had a little accident in the next couple of days," he says with a sly smile on his face.
Holy shit, what have I done?? I basically just hired my husband to be my hit man for the fish.
Funny thing is? I don't want to stop him.
But I'm wondering...what kind of punishment can you get for being an accomplice to a goldfish murder?
Yes this is another installment of Angie's WordFUL Wednesdays. Thank God for words.