My oldest daughter wants a salt water fish tank. There's absolutely no point in telling her how much work it'll be because she "can do it". Price is not a problem because she researched the snot out of the subject and intends to save up a ridiculous amount of her allowance money. And while most parents of 10 year olds would think 'Yeah, right. She'll forget about it after a while.' Perhaps you haven't met my child. This is the same child, who at 2.5 years old, screamed for McDonalds in the back of the van until she fell asleep while we drove an hour from a full day at the Renaissance Festival to the Marietta Diner. My well-meaning friend quipped 'She'll forget about it by the time she wakes up.' As the we pulled into the diner's parking lot this child lifted her head, opened her eyes, surveyed her surroundings, surmised that she was not at McDonalds and began to scream again. We had a dog that died when this same child was 2 - she remembers more about that dog than I do. Now admittedly the large Kit Kat I totally stole from her Halloween candy when she was 7 is worthy of remembrance, I suppose, but is it so hard to remember to bring home the darn lunch box??
I digress.
In an attempt to perhaps change her mind on her desire to own a salt water fish tank, I put her in charge of caring for the existing fresh water fish tank. Sure, it's a lot more low maintenance but if she can't handle that there's absolutely no point in blowing an absurd amount of money on Nemo and friends. Honestly, why can't the Nemo just tolerate fresh water? Or would it kill Disney/Pixar to write a heartwarming tale about a brown, drab female guppy and the trials and tribulations of hiding from her relentless, sex-starved suitors?
Well Disney, look no further than the Fish Tales occurring right here in my house. I'd be happy to sign over the rights for a fee and unlimited free access to all your parks for the rest of my life. When the 10 year old decided to have a little sleep over this summer with her "BFF" things went down pretty much like most normal sleep overs would. Giggling, sneaking food to the bedroom, more giggling, shutting her sisters out of her room, deep philosophical discussions on how 'totally weird' it was that they were going to be 5th graders. You know - the usual.
Some time after breakfast Anna (the 10 year old) decided it was time to show off her mad skillz on fish tank cleaning. Since I'd already shown her exactly what to do I left it up to her and just reminded her to clean up the mess. Funny how this motivation generally extends to getting out all the supplies and making the tank all sparkly, meanwhile there's a bucket, all the tank-cleaning tools, a tank item or two she forgot to put back in and a LOT of water sprinkled between the tank and the bathroom.
Suddenly there's a commotion in the bathroom. Lot's of 'NO!!!' and 'SHUT UP!!!!' Last time I looked that wasn't included on the tank cleaning check list. It was the 'Don't flush!! It's not dead!!!' that made me finally get up and investigate. As I rounded the corner, the unmistakable sound of a flushing toilet could be heard and all I could see was four girls standing around the scene of the crime, Emma (the 7 year old) with tears streaming down her face. Ella (the 6 year old) had a look of confused horror. The BFF was trying to tell Emma that everything was ok, followed by Anna's "Yeah, Emma. All drains lead to the ocean."
I asked if there was a dead fish, or one with a couple fins in the grave that Anna decided to go ahead and put out of it's misery. Staying in the tank and getting eaten alive definitely had to be worse than what I just like to assume is a quick death of the rapid flush of death. Emma was still crying, more than if it was just your average dead fish. She flushes dead fish herself without a single tear so I couldn't see why she was suddenly bereft at the loss of a single guppy. "It was alive," she choked out. So again I inquired about the exact 'deadness', if you will, of this fish that just got it's walking papers. There was no answer. "How dead was it?" I asked. "Side stroke?" No answer. "Swimming funny?" No answer. "Perfectly healthy???" The was an unmistakable look of shame on the 10 year olds. "Why on EARTH did you flush a perfectly healthy fish??"
"He was chasing all the girl fish."
Seemed perfectly logical. I always felt bad for the female fish. Seemed like a tank of ill repute, only the girls don't get paid and they're not exactly willing. They also don't wear those cool saloon girl outfits that you find in the Olde Tyme Photo Shoppes. But I couldn't overlook the part where they just committed fishicide. Still not finding the right words, I just repeated "Perfectly. Healthy. Fish." That's when the BFF offered up that they sent him to the ocean. At first I thought she was just being helpful to the younger girls. But then as I looked from one 10 year old to the other I realized they actually believed it!
"You flushed. A perfectly. Healthy. Fish." I repeated once more, perhaps trying to wrap my own brain around it.
"He was chasing the girls!" Anna insisted.
"Boys chase girls! It's a fact of nature! That doesn't mean you flush them!" You'd think that was enough but I wanted to make sure this type of thing never happened again. Here's where you will find exhibit A in today's quest for Worst Mother of the Year. "Don't flush another healthy fish. And let me give you a little tip - all drains do not lead to the ocean. All drains lead to the sewer! Look around! Are we anywhere NEAR the ocean??"
Alright so it was a little over the top. And while I appreciate the girls trying to liberate the female fish I really don't like the idea of killing the males just because they're annoying. My mother is already considering having a shirt made for Anna's teenage years that reads 'I flush boyfriends that piss me off'. As if we didn't have enough trouble with our toilets!
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