With Easter upon us, my kids have been asking for a few things (When did Easter become Christmas by the way? What up with all the ads and kids wanting real presents? Um, no.)…anyhoo, they’ve been asking for pet fish again. This fills my muffin top with dread, because of the mass murder we committed a year ago. It reminded me of this post, and I’m throwing it out there again–as a cautionary tale!

One fish, two fish, gold fish, dead fish.

This one has a little scar.

This one doesn’t know who you are.

Some look like they hit the bar.

Some don’t seem to swim too far.

Why, this one has a big old head.

Oh shit, that one looks a little dead.

And him! And he! And her! And she! Make four more!

By crickey I’ll get that fracky fish store!

From here to there, and there to here, dead fish, dead fish are everywhere.

And oh dear God, what’s that smell in here???

Once upon a time, there was a family with three boys. They all had assorted allergies. One day, the oldest boy caught the mama in a moment of weakness. She might have been detoxing from cream , dizzy from lunges, or possibly, under the spell of Michelob Ultra Coach Taylor from Friday Night Lights. Who really knows?

So she grinned, “Sure, why not? We can get some fish.” It’ll be fun, she thought. It’s probably the one pet none of us are allergic to, she reasoned. They’re cheap, they’re easy (we’re still talking fish here, just everyone forget Charlie Sheen for a minute, for the love of God! ). Most importantly, she figured having fish would teach the boys some responsibility. (That? Was a stretch, considering these are the boys who litter her home with used, dirty socks.)

Truthfully, visions of Nemo swam in her head.

This is how it all went down.

Crime table:

SATURDAY, NOONISH, EST:  The five fish buyers march off to the the pet store (rhymes with PetHO) to get their fish on! They are told by the fishie authorities (20 year olds in bad PetHo garb who were maybe definitely sniffing glue from the office supply store on their break) they needed a 10 gallon aquarium for five fish, and they would need to fill it up, do what the instructions said, and then bring in a water sample 24 hours later. If  the water passed the stringent PetHo test, they could buy fish the next day. Whining and boos ensue from the peanut gallery, until hubs tells wifey to lighten up. After getting over the shock of  dropping $85.94 on the aquarium, black rock, mini sculpture, rock garden, Spongebob pineapple (husband!),  and three bags of HOT RAINBOW (we are the world) rocks, they depart!  $86 smackers, no fishies. Hmph.

Wifey flees to the grocery store while hubs misses watching riveting golf on tv, while he painstakingly rinses three bags of tiny rainbow rocks per instructions, washes, and fills fish tank aka aquarium in the name of dadhood. Older boys take turns flicking the tank light on and off while 2 year old squeals, “Fizz! Fizz!” (Fish!) even though, there are no fish in the newly tricked out Fish Ritz.

SUNDAY, 4 PM EST:

After a raging snowstorm dies out, the family trudge to PetHo to claim their charges, h20 sample in hand. After a brief water test and consultation with the esteemed “Fishcare for Dummies” book (could I even make that up?) it was determined by PetHo the water was a little hard, but would be okay. (Side note: Does anyone else find it ironic you need to prove you have a decent home for fish to glue sniffers at PetHo, when dummies who don’t know to come in from the rain bring babies home from nurseries with no cred every single day? My head hurts.) Anyhoo, with much fanfare, the fam each chooses a fish and quickly heads home with: Mario, Sonic, Fizz, Bubba, and Lady Gaga. (She kind of had a poker face and was translucent like a funky egg. What can I say?)

Damage: $27.13

For a few short hours, the family enjoys watching the fab five swimming happily, munching on fish flakes. The dad even remarks it’s soothing to watch them. The kids wave goodnight to the fish and blow kisses. Aww.

MONDAY, 6 AM, EST:

The family runs in to check on the fish. Lady Gaga is slumped against the filter. Daddy tells mummy Lady G. must be sleeping. Mummy wonders if she just had a rough night, like her namesake.

8 AM EST:

Mummy peeks in. Lady G. is still motionless, and oh look, now Mario has joined her by the pole. Something seems fishy.

9 AM EST:

Sonic is partying on the pole with Lady G and Mario. Duh, duh, duh. Another one bites the dust. It’s obvious…these fish…were swimming with the fishes…wait, what? I mean, NOT swimming with the fishes, but “swimming with the fishes”. Okay, they were dead.

12 PM EST: Back from picking up oldest at school and quick errand. Run in to check whilst holding breath. “Mommy, all the fishies but Bubba are sleeping. They must be nocturnal!” That’s right, son. You are a smart boy. RIP, Fizz. *Cries inside—I’ll get you, you glue sniffing rat bastards!*

You know where this is going because you don’t sniff glue, yes? By 4PM, EST, Monday, all of the fab five are gone. GONE!

Despite their best efforts to provide a lovely ecosytem, the mom questions if she led the fish into a death trap–a veritable fish fry. Or were these PetHo fish doomed from the start? The dad wonders what they’ll say. Ultimately they decide it’s too cruel to tell the boys all their fish died when they only enjoyed them a few short hours, so the dad tells them the fish are obviously sick since they’ve been lying around all day, and said he’d bring them back to the fish store and leave them with the fish doctor for a few days.

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And now, they wait….the tank has been largely replenished with spring water, new drops, and is cycling for a few days, whereupon, the fam will get new fishies….at…rhymes with Pet-Tart.

God save the queen fishes!