Friday, October 12, 2012
We fish sat for a sweet friend. Fillmore the fish served as further evidence of why we do not need fish. For example:
They eat gluten which means after feeding Fillmore, I had to scrub down and place his food out of reach of everyone. The kids weren’t allowed to feed him because before I can utter, “don’t put your hands in your mouth” they are swallowing their arms.
Fish don’t freak out when you don’t feed them. Kids do. Or my kids say passive aggressive things like, “you can make me eggs now” or “what are you eating?” which is code for “because if it sounds good I’m going to eat it and you’re going to wonder why you never get lunch later in the day when you’re starving.” Anyway, during my morning conversations with Fillmore, he never mentioned that he had not been fed breakfast, so let’s just all thank the Lord he survived.
There’s a lot of guilt involved with fish. It’s a fish. You can’t walk it or hold it or “take it out of the bowl to pet” as Wren kept asking to do. Yet, I still felt guilty just sort of leaving him on the counter, periodically feeding him, chatting it up with him while I loaded the dishwater and then forgetting about him for pretty much the rest of the day. My friend said her son does tricks for him and shows him all his toys and just generally hangs out with him. I think I may not be that much of a giver. Fish don’t even smile, so I am not tap dancing for half an hour so Fillmore can continue to swim around looking bored.
Fish always look depressed, or at least they do when they’re with us. This is the second time Dennis and I have ventured into the arena of fish sitting, and the first fish literally almost died of depression. We did so much for that fish including purchasing things to clean its tank, and it just basically pretended to be dead every day, floating around the top of the bowl until one of us started having the is-it-appropriate-to-flush-someone-else’s-fish-or-do-you-keep-it-for-some-kind-of-memorial conversation within ear shot of the fish. Then it sort of rolled over in a very non-committed to life sort of way and stared at us. Ungrateful.
Luckily, the kids have not asked for a fish. Wren was more upset about the idea that Fillmore was not hers simply because that meant he belonged to someone else, and she has not been okay with anything not belonging solely to her this week. It’s a fun new phase we’re getting through. Anyway, if you ever need somebody to fish sit for you, we will. However, I beg you to consider the mental anguish your fish may suffer in our presence. Is it really fair to the fish?