As stated earlier, Big Willie’s got a thing for naming our goldfish.
He enjoys it so much that he does it several times a week, pondering, aloud, whether the copper-colored goldfish is more a “Melanie” or a “Sadie”.
I’ve pointed out to him a number of times that the Post Office will never find them if he keeps changing their names.
Oddly enough, he does not find me funny.
Recently, however, a tragedy struck our little tank; and the name game has begun again.
But I’m ahead of myself.
Tuesday night Willie cleaned the tank; and in his rootings around he frightened the placostomus, who hurled itself, suicidally, against the far wall of the tank.
Waldo was a good fish, a cleaning fish, a fish we never caught stealing. He enjoyed algae, goldfish “droppings” and long walks in the rain.
We never once had any trouble from that fish.
And now he’s gone.
Willie, of course, was haunted by the image of Waldo’s flight from what must have surely seemed to be the Hand of God. Well, he was haunted – until he jumped into the car an hour later and bought another placostomus.
Which brings us to the naming.
“What do you think,” he muses. “Does this little guy look more like a “Stalin” or a “Dave” to you?”
I’m not falling for it, though. He doesn’t really want my input.
This time around, I’m just going to wait for the announcement to arrive in the mail, so I can be surprised like everyone else.
Terms of Endearment
43 minutes ago