In Mourning

As soon as I stepped into the driveway from work, the kids burst out of the house.  Their eyes were red and their faces tear stained.  My reaction, of course, was to assume that they were in trouble for something and were hoping that I would interfere with whatever “totally unfair” punishment My Honey had doled out.  I was still out at the mailbox when I asked what was wrong. 

“The fish is dead!” they wailed in unison.  These poor kids would do an Italian funeral proud with the way they went on and on, wailing and gnashing their teeth. 

Apparently, My Honey had cleaned out the fish tank.  The clean water was probably such a shock to him, he keeled over.  Seriously, that was one gnarly fish tank.  99% of the time I don’t even remember it exists.  Once I got over the constant need to pee when I heard the water filter, I paid no attention to it whatsoever. 

There was a moment when we thought Floyd the Fish might actually make it, but in reality, the prognosis isn’t good.  My children are inconsolable.  They weren’t this upset when my sweet dog, Sophie died, and they could cuddle her and she would cuddle back for God’s sake.

I assured the children that the fish don’t live very long, and that it was alright to be sad.  I’m sure that we’ll be in mourning for at least a week.  Feel free to bring  over casseroles and bundt cakes and such.