growing in the goo

As of today...I've had Mjr. Tom for a year!! It's a new record for me. I hope we have many more wonderful years together.

And as such, it's fitting that he almost suffered violently on Friday night.

I got back from the National's game sorta late, feeling worn out by the last straw of the commute. I made my way to my room, which had steadily grown messier the closer we got to Friday, and I looked at the good ole' fish. And the water was, um, a bit murky, and I couldn't really see him. And by that, I mean "I couldn't see him at all and I thought he had jumped out of the bowl." Remembering my little promise (made to myself) that I'd clean his water, I embarked on the task, my mind distracted and thinking of the blissful sleep that was to come after I completed the chore.

So, I do the usual. Bring Mjr. Tom into my bathroom, transfer him to a glass. Empty the bowl, grab a paper towel to wipe off the inside. It may be belated, but I do a thorough job, afterall.

Annnnnnnnd I dropped the damn bowl on the corner of my sink.

The bottom smashed, little pieces of glass dropped everywhere.

I cursed. The stupid bowl. I'm such a butterfingers.

Mjr. Tom seemed unperturbed. I mean, he's a fish. I ran into the kitchen, bemoaning the sudden turn of events to E, who was trying to cram for her GREs that she was taking in 10 hours.

I rummaged through the cabinets, and came up with a lame piece of tupperware. Keeping in mind the Golden Rule, I knew that if I were a fish, I would not want to live in a teeny tupperware bowl. Then my eyes alighted upon the huge Arizona Iced Tea jugs that E had been storing on top of the cabinet.

(Flashback to Tuesday of this week, me saying to E, "Ummm...yeah...is there a reason you're saving those things?" Implying: Can you THROW those away?!)

Lacking scissors, I got out a carving knife and began sawing away.

The final product...isn't that bad. And I'm thinking that I'm going to keep him in there. He's a Siamese fighting fish, so maybe he feels a connection to the Asian-inspired label. He's too chic for a plain bowl. And he seems to enjoy journeying up to the handle and then sinking down.

(Then again, what would I know about a fish enjoying something? I'm totally projecting here.)