When Noah turned six in April there was pretty much just the one birthday gift to get him.
He wanted fish.
I don’t know why. Fish are not exciting. And Noah…is very active.
It’s was a whooole thing to actually buy these fish. I’m sure it seems quaint as hell and I’m tempted to leave you with your hypothetical fluffy vision of the Hub and I driving home with a bag of goldfish and one of those cute fish bowls from the cartoons.
We don’t have pet stores here. We have Wal-Mart. I loath the wall of mart. If I ever go on a murderous rampage I’m starting there.
Of course most of the fish were already dead and even though there were a million people currently shopping, all the employees had suddenly gone out for a smoke.
I was about to light up myself right there in the middle of the “pet department” when a blue vest finally materialized.
The poor guy struggles with not scooping out a dead one as Hub and I pretend not to notice.
We bought way too many fish necessitating not an adorable bubble bowl but a tank. It had a lot to do with taking pity on the guy scooping them and feeling the need to rescue as many survivors as we could.
They weren’t labeled or anything. We had no idea what we bought. Now, four months later, I can tell you not a one of them was a goldfish.
A few certainly did look like they were…but when they ganged up on the cleaner fish and viciously murdered him in front of my horrified children, a quick google search informed me that we had about three koi crammed in there, among other things.
Koi are actually pretty cool, by the way, and not just because they’re trendy. They just really don’t like cleaner fish.
Anyway, the whole thing ended up being totally worth it when our guy Noah got home from school. I can’t explain it…if you have kids I hope you just know. It was one of those rare moments when we knew we’d done a good thing.
This morning he woke me up in tears. Audible, gut wrenching tears.
Shark was dead.
“Shark” was the fish that I’d picked out. He was just a tiny lil dark grey fish with orange fins. He was shaped like a shark (duh) but was the size of the candy store version of that creature. God only knows what he really was because, you know, Wal-mart.
Frankly, I think we’re lucky that besides the guy that was gang banged, all the Wal-fish were still breathing. Or whatever it is they do. But Noah was devastated.
I pop out of bed and hold my broken hearted lil man and it is a sad moment. Hub has never mastered the popping out of bed thing (hilarious) but he stumbles over eventually and the wake begins.
Riley, our eight year old, is bored.
“We know he’s dead because he was doing this!” * impression of a dead fish*
Hub *trying not to laugh* “…yup…”
Riley, who has inherited my smart-ass gene and the smirk that comes with it, snorts and asks, “So…whys he still crying?”
“He’s mourning Shark.” Says his father.
Riley – *thoughtful* “Ohh…so that’s what he was. A morning shark.”
Hub – “…….”
Rest in peace, Morning Shark.