angelfish murder
Monday, Jul. 14, 2003 @ 7:30 p.m.

My angelfish just died.

The other angelfish are acting like they haven't even noticed. I think they're feeling guilty. I suspect the black one is to blame.

At first I kind of wanted to throw up, but I never throw up. This is because I'm all shades of female-macho. I think I'll do the slightly-more-mature thing and leave the house for a while. I'm not ready to take her out, because I know she's going to have to be flushed. I buried my last fish, in the proper, underground fashion. In the basement apartment-house, there's no backyard for us to do our burials. It's sad. Because a sewer is no place for the shell of something that lived in my home.

A-ha. All these years my mother has been calling me a packrat, when I'm actually a sentimental schmuck. I hope she's learned the difference because it would be a shame for me to believe I was more accurate than a woman who quabbles over the last kernel in the popcorn bowl.