Thursday, November 22, 2007
(Puzzle piece number 2 of 38.)
When I was three years old, Mom decided I should have a pet. The decision was a challenge for her because she had to make up her mind, which was a challenge in itself. She actually had to choose what she would have to take care of. It couldn’t require much upkeep because she worked full time, so Mom settled on a goldfish.
Soon we ventured to Woolworth’s and purchased a single goldfish and a conventional glass fishbowl that we dressed with colored bottom rocks and a ceramic protrusion. Studies have proven that goldfish vary the monotony of swimming clockwise in their bowls by swimming upward, downward, and counterclockwise, so they can view their bottom matter from different perspectives, just as men do with women.
We placed the goldfish bowl on top of our Magnavox black-and-white TV-phonograph console, so when Walter Cronkite wasn’t holding my attention, I could enjoy ocular engagement with the fish. Plus the fish was in color!
The thing about fish is that they’re not able to jump out and fetch a ball, or scamper after a piece of yarn, or perch on your shoulder and poop. Confined fish may be great for meditation, but for a three-year-old full of energy, having a pet fish was as much fun as watching croquet, without the benefit of spirits.
Before long, the fish’s caregiver got tired of giving care. Mom’s low tolerance for the slow and high frustration level for tedium led to a negative future for her charge. One morning as Dad stumbled to the bathroom bowl and flipped up the seat, he yelped! Before my dad’s eyes, enjoying his morning laps in his brand new bowl was the sweet, little goldfish.
A bubbling, malodorous minute later, the poor, golder fish was flushed.
The moral of the story is: consider the consequences of accommodating even the cutest or cuddliest of critters, because caring for them may create crimps in your crazy continuance.
And be kind to goldfish: they may jump up and nip you.
copyright © 2007 by Auntie Eartha. All rights reserved.
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