Posts
A six-year old returns from a classmates birthday party, running as fast as she can, while balancing a bowl of water. As I see the expression on her face, a pit begins to form in the bottom of my stomach...the smell of algae and stagnant beach water begin to surface more and more, with every step she takes towards me.
The innocent child presents with such pride, the "favor" she received when leaving the birthday party.
"MOMMY, WE HAVE A PET NOW!!! LOOK! I NAMED HIM FLIPPER!"
You.Have.Got.To.Be.F*#&%NG.Kidding.Me.
My brain starts spinning at this very moment - WHAT in the name of God did I ever do to this particular child's mother. Think. Hard. Wasn't I somewhat courteous those few times we entertained the obnoxious class of 1st graders together at Christmas time, and even during Easter Spring Fling when her little girl flung her black jelly bean at me just because she didn't like the taste? Did my kid hide her little one's favortie toy one day, or cause a riot about being line leader again, forcing her own child to second place?
Shit.
It had to be something. Because who the F_#&K in their right God forsaken mind would hand out live flippin' fish to six year olds at a birthday party? And in a 6 inch diameter of a bowl with 6 rocks scattered at the bottom?
Oh, and a "Ziploc snack bag" filled with about 24 flakes of gold fish food?
WHO, in God's name? WHO?
This woman obviously never cared to ask me of my horrific childhood that included rotating pets - a variety of pets that seemed to come into our lives with gusts of excitement, only to be taken away by mysterious disappearances...
I had gerbils. They got loose. My Mom still claims they climb inside her basement walls. I think she poisoned them and dumped them one Monday morning during garbage pick up, as they suffocated in a plastic baggie.
We had rabbits. And ducks. They all supposedly got "too big to handle" and were transported to farms all over the area where they could live a wonderful life with greenery and waterfront scenes. I think we ate them at dinners that summer. That was the year we upgraded our barbecue grill.
We had two Irish Setters. We had several mix puppies. We had two cats... and then Daisy, the Bichon. She mysteriously inherited some type of raging kennel disease, and lay to rest somewhere. But the last time we remember seeing her she was happily chewing my moms favorite sandal one morning, just as we were shuffled out the door to catch the school bus.
And then there were fish. They were free for God's sake. They were won from numerous attempts by the four of us oldest siblings, wanting so desperately a pet that we could keep for more than a week. We filled a bathtub full of water and emptied at least 30 beautiful guppies into the tub.
My mom smiled, and left us alone to care for them. Now, I realize she knew. There was no chance for their survival as the pure tap water poured over their fins, choking them as we unexpectedly watched in glee. I'll never forget waking up that morning. It was like an atomic bomb hit Fish Land. Every single one of them were floating. And I was totally devastated.
So last month, when the 6 year old came proudly home with her new fish, I remembered my childhood, and promised even against my husband's wish, to care for this as my own dream pet. I sought professional advice and purchased a tank along with special drops to remove chlorine and chemicals from our water as well as food. I also bought stones, and a silk plant for my dear "Flipper". And as much as my husband made fun of me, Flipper and I bonded this past month.
Until yesterday.
He came running, and seeing the sheer horror on my face, raced to the tank to find my dear friend. Nothing.
Nothing.
No where.
Until...
Wait...
"Um... Sue???....."
Oh.My.God. I'm a pussy. I can't take shit like this. I just can't take this shit.
So now with the entire family filling the kitchen, my husband took charge, and after surveying the tank, asked everyone to leave. I looked at him.
It wasn't good.
