Welcome to the family
Dear fishies,
Good luck to you. Seriously. This is probably a terrible idea.
Yesterday was our synagogue's Purim carnival, and there are many reasons why I love our new synagogue over our former synagogue, but you know what the old place had going for it? It happily ignored the goldfish-as-prizes-at-Purim-carnival tradition. Last year our kids were so sad not to win fishies (so we were naturally, sad, too, so sad) but this year the carnival put the fishies at an easier game. Hmmph. Everyone's a winner. And then E played so late in the carnival that when faced with impending fishy excess, the game monitor gave her two.
So there are four of you swimming around in my favorite salad bowl. Hi, there, Carrie, Peach and Seaweed. Hi there, G Fuff Noteverstill. Yes, the boy thought that you and he should share one name. I offer no explanation other than he is who he is, and he really likes feeding you, so don't argue with the benefactor.
Here's the deal: you'd better live. You'd better keep your water clean, because I am unlikely to tend to it often enough. You'd better not jump out of that bowl (and yes I am looking at you, Peach. Why do ya gotta be so feisty?)
You have a frenemy on the front table. Her name is Coral these days, although she's a boy and has nine lives like a cat. My understanding is: she'd eat you. So you live on the white shelf in the kitchen. But Coral should be your cautionary tale. Coral understands her job is to live, even if we don't remember to feed her regularly, even if we don't change her water enough. Coral is chill. Get lethargic, fishies. It works here.
Thing I have done for Coral: bought a cute unicorn-shaped salt shaker to hold her food because I couldn't stand looking at the ugly food bottle sitting on the table every day. Thing I have not done for Coral: remembered daily to tip that unicorn toward her bowl. If you guys make it to the end of the month, I'll probably buy you a cute salt shaker. What I should do, though, is buy a little tank with a filter because there are four of you and you poop a lot, but then I'd have to acknowledge just how much you exist.
How about this: earn your salt shaker first. Then we'll talk.
Goodbye forever, salads. I miss you already,
Robin
__________
Good luck to you. Seriously. This is probably a terrible idea.
Yesterday was our synagogue's Purim carnival, and there are many reasons why I love our new synagogue over our former synagogue, but you know what the old place had going for it? It happily ignored the goldfish-as-prizes-at-Purim-carnival tradition. Last year our kids were so sad not to win fishies (so we were naturally, sad, too, so sad) but this year the carnival put the fishies at an easier game. Hmmph. Everyone's a winner. And then E played so late in the carnival that when faced with impending fishy excess, the game monitor gave her two.
So there are four of you swimming around in my favorite salad bowl. Hi, there, Carrie, Peach and Seaweed. Hi there, G Fuff Noteverstill. Yes, the boy thought that you and he should share one name. I offer no explanation other than he is who he is, and he really likes feeding you, so don't argue with the benefactor.
Here's the deal: you'd better live. You'd better keep your water clean, because I am unlikely to tend to it often enough. You'd better not jump out of that bowl (and yes I am looking at you, Peach. Why do ya gotta be so feisty?)
You have a frenemy on the front table. Her name is Coral these days, although she's a boy and has nine lives like a cat. My understanding is: she'd eat you. So you live on the white shelf in the kitchen. But Coral should be your cautionary tale. Coral understands her job is to live, even if we don't remember to feed her regularly, even if we don't change her water enough. Coral is chill. Get lethargic, fishies. It works here.
Thing I have done for Coral: bought a cute unicorn-shaped salt shaker to hold her food because I couldn't stand looking at the ugly food bottle sitting on the table every day. Thing I have not done for Coral: remembered daily to tip that unicorn toward her bowl. If you guys make it to the end of the month, I'll probably buy you a cute salt shaker. What I should do, though, is buy a little tank with a filter because there are four of you and you poop a lot, but then I'd have to acknowledge just how much you exist.
How about this: earn your salt shaker first. Then we'll talk.
Goodbye forever, salads. I miss you already,
Robin
__________
This post was inspired by the novel The Divorce Papers by Susan Rieger. Young lawyer Sophie unwillingly takes her first divorce case with an entertaining and volatile client in this novel told mostly through letters and legal missives. Join From Left to Write on March 18 we discuss The Divorce Papers. As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.
More posts from
