One time, Matt abandoned me. FOUR WHOLE DAYS. Just me, like a free-range chicken, with 96 hours wide open and not a plan in sight. Technically, he abandoned me AND the dogs, but they seemed way less hurt by the abandonment and carried on as life as normal so.. they don’t count as victims of his abandonment.
Okay, fine. It was for a bachelor party. But still 96 HOURS? Some people really just should not have that much time without their guiding light, their partner, and their low-key adult babysitter. 🤣.
Me. I’m talking about me. 🙋🏻♀️
It started out with a fish. A blue beta, named Dog. Matt refuses to allow my heart true happiness and keeps turning down every dog/puppy/rescue I think I need, so I got a fish and named him dog. I got my dog, dammit! I thought it was hilarious. Actually, I still think this is hilarious.
Humble brag: I’m kind of a fantastic fish owner. I’m one of those people that had betas that lived for years, moved houses, etc. I mean, sure.. there were a few unfortunate incidents like slamming into my windshield because of a quick stop, a quick jaunt down the garbage disposal (not on, thank God), an unintended visit in the dog’s mouth, and a near-death freezing event, but overall.. I have had great success with betas. I’ve had them on and off my entire life.
To be fair, betas are not challenging. You pretty much treat their water, feed them when you remember, and clean the tank sometimes. They are built with fortitude. They are perfect for the accident-prone 🙋🏻♀️
So with that as a background, imagine my SHOCK when Dog died within 24 hours of joining our home. I killed him. I put the water purifier in the tank, put him in the tank, and promptly went to sleep, dreaming of all the memories we would make together.
Then, at like 3 am, I jolted awake, confident I made a critical math error and that there was an insufficient amount of water purifier in the tank. I jumped out of bed, ran to the tank, scooped Dog out, added more purifier, and dropped him back in. All while patting myself of the back for being an amazing fish mom.
Unfortunately, a few hours later, I woke up and he was belly-up. Turns out I did the math right the first time. 🤦🏻♀️ This failure didn’t deter me from my joke. I got out (IN A SNOW STORM) and found myself another beta, named it Dog. This one was a little uglier, but seemed to come from humbler roots and felt like a better fit to the family than Dog #1.
I was NOT going to suffocate Dog #2, so I followed the instructions perfectly. I didn’t even put Dog #2 in the tank until 24 hours after the water “settled”. Things were going great, Dog #2 truly was thriving.
Then lots of crazy shit, not relevant to this story happened, including a car exploding in our backyard, and before I knew it, 96 hours had passed and I was still a free-range chicken, just with its head chopped off.
Matt came home and thought my joke was pretty clever (if I do say so myself). We bonded as a family, things were going great. All was right in our world.
As we settled back into life as normal, Matt returned to his drumming, we worked, everything was fine. Then two days later, Dog #2 bellied up. It was unexpected and devastating. I had no warning.
I REFUSE TO TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR DOG #2’S UNTIMELY DEATH. I’m convinced that the tank (which was directly above the music room) was effected by the drumming. Like the sound waves jostled his sanctuary and led to his demise. I have no idea if this has any scientific/intelligent backing at all, but I’m sticking with it. Matt says I overfed Dog #2. He is wrong. Probably.
So either way, we are now in a crisis; 2 “dogs” in a week. I’m not one to give up easily, but the thought of killing another fish wasn’t settling well. Matt recommended that I move the fish tank, so it was not directly above the music room (just in case I was actually right).
But here’s the thing, I liked where the fish tank was. It’s pretty, it fits the kitchen decoration scheme well, and honestly, it’s just really aesthetically pleasing.
So.. I bought fake fish. 🤷🏻♀️
So far, they’re very low maintenance. They never need food (or get overfed), they are completely unbothered by the drums, and they don’t even make the tank a mess… and the aesthetic remains the same.
Fake fish, in a real tank, for a “certain” appearance. What a metaphor for life – I think we are all guilty of being fake (fish) for a prettier looking life (tank). I don’t know what to think of this whole fish/tank dilemma. I’m going to have to reflect on this whole metaphor for a while. I’m bothered by my superficiality, but like. not enough to.. not buy fake fish for my kitchen fish tank. At least, I’m being honest about my fake-ness, that has to give me some credibility points.
In the end, I guess we’re all just fake fish sometimes. Thus is life. One dog, two dog, blue fish, blue fish, and a whole pile of fake tropical fish.
Sunny daze ahead, sweet friends (probably). Don’t be fake fish, but if you are, at least be honest with yourself. 😝🥰