I Did the Unthinkable

Q thinks our new fish are great fun.  He thinks feeding the fish is even more fun.

So it shouldn't have been a surprise when I found the entire bottle of fish food pellets floating in the fish bowl.  The poor fish (there are five...MJ and four regular goldfish) were navigating through their pellet-filled water, eating and trying to swim amidst the ever-expanding pellets.

And let me just insert here how much I loathe goldfish...which makes it very ironic that I wanted, no NEEDED a goldfish in Miss B's picture.  I have had many harrowing experiences with goldfish over the years.  Events such as a goldfish getting knocked into my silverware drawer and flopping around amongst my once clean spoons and forks, have left me less than fish-friendly.  Especially when I had to catch the flopping fish mid-flop and get him back into water and then try and clean my silverware thoroughly enough to actually ever eat off of them again.  Or the time Miss B's little fishy was found belly up when I was gaggy-sick pregnant with Mr. C.  The kind where you can actually smell canned foods and the horrifying stench sends you running for the bathroom.  *shiver*  I am usually not a squeamish girly-girl.  I use power tools, I installed the sprinkler system in our last house, and laid the sod with only the help of my sister, a wheelbarrow and a kitchen knife.  My husband does his fair share of shelf building, picture hanging, and other manly-type projects, but I have never been one to wait around for him if I wanted something done, especially when I want it done now.  Except when it comes to fish.  I refuse to clean out their bowls or dispose of upside down fishies.  The slithery things give me the extreme heebie jeebies.

So back to the five fish swimming in pellet mush.  I swallowed my fears.  I denied all heebies and jeebies.  I scooped up as many layers of pellets as I could.  Then I filled a bowl with new water, added the de-chlorination solution, grabbed the little fishy net and transplanted the fish.  I talked to myself as I caught each one and they wriggled and slithered and flopped in the net. "It's okay, you're almost done.  Don't think about it.  They're just little goldfish for Pete's sake, what's your problem?" And I did it.  I saved them from a fate worse than death...or just plain death, really.  And I was so proud of myself.

Then later than night, Q thought that since he enjoyed dehydrated apple slices so much, the fish probably would too...and that some pinto beans (we had Mexican for dinner) might make for a perfect late-night snack.  But luckily my Prince Charming was there to save the day.  Although when he simply reached his hand directly INTO the depths of the fish-filled bowl to extract the foreign food, where the fish could actually TOUCH his hands...I had to leave the room.  I can only handle so much growth in one day.