Long Live Ladyfish!
What is this, like #17 now? Those of you who have been playing along at home, clue me in. I've lost track.
Yes, Ladyfish didst snuffeth it, sometime in the early morn, her spirit slipping away to the vast spectral ocean, where all Betas, and fish sticks eventually wend their way to, and the wife schlukked her out of her vase and hurried her carcass off to Mister Toads Wild Ride. Baloop!, and let the furious hand washing begin!
Oh, she washed, and she washed, and yet still I informed her that 'hands as what have touched dead fish, shall never touch my penis'. Well, at least not for today. Yeesh.
So, the wife goes out on her fish-mission, and I secret the kids in their room as she returns, and the wife prepares Ladyfish Mk17's water and places the bag in there for her to acclimate for a while, and I allow the kids downstairs, and my, they remark, but didn't Ladyfish grow big while you had her out at the fish store getting cleaned.
Hey, I have enough grief in my life without dealing with fish-grief. Screw that. If I can lie to them about Santa, I can lie about a damn two dollar fish.
Thus, the hurdy-gurdy, non-stop adventure that is my life, continues to drag itself with fleshless, bony arms, across the overgrown cemetery of my existence, to fall with a clatter into a forgotten grave-hole.
Try to contain your envy...