O, Carnival Goldfish, we hardly new ye...

This was the title of the witty post I already had composed in my head as we left the town carnival back in the middle of June, with a goldfish sloshing away inside his gallon-sized Ziploc bag in the cargo hold of the stroller. Of course, having three children, I was not stupid enough to start playing a ring toss game that offered aquatic creatures as a prize, knowing after spending thirty dollars to acquire one, two more would need to be won. This arena is entirely H's responsibility, which I feel no guilt foisting upon him since I took care of the whole, you know, birthing them thing. I carefully steered the offspring away from that booth after spying it on a bathroom run, but as we were exiting the area, explaining to the crying #2 that she still had fun playing the squirt-the-water-into-the-clown's-mouth-game, even though she did not win the four foot tall stuffed penguin (which is, of course, bullshit, but seemed gentler than saying, "You can't win 'em all kid."), a kindly teenager in her Abercrombie and Fitch sweatshirt and booty shorts came up, bag in hand, and asked if we would like her goldfish. Shit. Of course I had to say yes. The kids were beside themselves with glee at the offer of a free pet. I, however, was uncharacteristically harsh with my children, telling them, "Listen guys, we'll bring him home, but most likely, this fish will be dead when you wake up tomorrow", hoping to keep out of our home any pets on the forbidden list.

I am not prejudiced against pets of the piscine variety. There are other animals on the verboten list such as snakes, lizards, or reptiles of any kind. Anything I might have to feed live mice or insects can hunt on its own and get the hell out of my house. And the fact that you can catch salmonella from these things makes me question the sanity of anyone who does own one. Then there are hamsters, guinea pigs, rabbit or any other rodents. If your cage smells like a homeless guy on the Seventh avenue bus in August, requiring me to shovel out piss-soaked wood chips every week, you will be "escaping" into the woods round my house before the kids get home from school. And, lastly, birds. With their manic, fast-moving eyeballs, claw-like feet, and ear-splitting squawking, it's no wonder these beauties are such popular pets. And I'm sure they harbor no resentment at all over their wings being clipped and won't try to snap your fingers off while you replace their birdseed.*

The next morning dawns and instead of seeing his underbelly floating at the top of the fishbowl and planning a fish funeral, I was greeted by the sight of Harold (yes, they named him, despite my explaining the futility of the gesture) giving me a yeah-I'm-still-here-lady stare. This did not bode well. And here I am a month later with Harold still going strong despite H's (who I have given full responsibility for this creatures care since he would not let me flush him down the toilet while the kids were at school) constantly forgetting to change his shit-clouded water or Harold being fed Potato Flyers for the first week of his life as I had no time or inclination to make a special trip to the pet store in the final jam-packed week of school.

So what is my problem with fish? Unlike the other bestia non grata I discussed, they do not really smell, make noise, or require too much care. Fish, in and of themselves, are not offensive, but what is getting to me is what I perceive to be Harold's loneliness and boredom. H beat me to the punch and picked up a fake plant and some purple stones to liven up his environment, as I was beginning to feel guilty watching Harold stare into vast emptiness, and my interim plan of surrounding his bowl with a ring of Little People wasn't really working out, and just drew Little Man's attention to the area, with resultant splashing and toddler-induced fish terror. The idea of getting Harold a friend has also been discussed and this is where I really get to the heart of the issue. One fish can live in a bowl in the girls' room, but two fish requires an aquarium, and that? Is simply not happening. Aquariums are the domain of single guys in their twenties, before they have a serious girlfriend and should just come with a black leather couch, glass coffee table, neon beer sign and flat screen TV in a Single Guy Living Room Set**. There is no way I am bringing one of those things, with that weird light you put at the top, into my home. Before I know it, I'll have 100 gallon tank in the living room, with empty pizza boxes and beer cans littering every surface, with LM watching Pardon the Interruption instead of Go Diego Go.

So we shall see who will win this battle of wills, as I pointedly forget to remind H of his fish-keeping duties and pack the weekends with activities to distract us from taking a trip to Petco to find Harold a sibling. Do I feel guilty about denying him company, merely because the housing it requires clashes with the aesthetic in my home? A little. Doesn't mean I don't avoid his beady little eyes when I go into the girls' room. And maybe there's another motivation behind my having the girls put away their own laundry this summer, as they tend to close the dresser drawers a little too hard causing a things left too close to the edge to rattle around precariously. I'm just sayin'...

*Of course, cats aren't even on the list since the very idea of having the devil incarnate as pet is laughable.

** I'm looking at you, Gault.