Dead Fish

Tonight, I was alone. I played Santa, wrapping presents and dividing stocking booty, while Mike took the kids to their Christmas Eve service rehearsal at church. After completing said wrapping duty, I began making stock for the Christmas Day gravy. I've never before been so prepared for gravy making. Thank you, Martha Stewart, for the inferiority complex.

While chopping the appropriate herbs and veggies for the stock, I noticed that the the Beta fish I won at a country fair for my son last summer was looking particularly groggy in it's 16 oz bowl. Being the compassionate woman that I am, I attempted to clean the fish's bowl so he could absorb oxygen from the water in a more efficient manner.

As I poured the dirty water into the garbage disposal, said purple Beta Fish somehow leaped from his bowl into the kitchen sink, down the drain, and into the the dark abyss of our septic tank. And, I might add, the garbage disposal was ON.

My son, the registered owner of the belated Beta fish is on his way home as I type. I think I'll tell him over breakfast, leaving out the detail of grinding garbage disposal. Someday, when HE has kids, I'll fess up and ask for forgiveness.

Until then, I'm too chicken.