6.17.98

Has anybody else seen the Nutri-Grain cereal bars commercial in which a mother breastfeeds her infant and then feeds her toddler a Nutri-Grain bar? How bizarre.

After Tuesday's fish disaster, I decided that I would take a trek down to the pet store to buy a new fish for Evan. The pet store isn't close to my house, but it's not far enough for me to feel decent if I take the bus. So I clomped down Packard Street, tossing envious glances at the college kids in their air-conditioned Jeeps. Someone tossed out a catcall at me. Nice.

At the pet shop, I picked out a nice new fishy, a jetta or a marlin or something. I don't know. But it shure was purdy. I walked home and put Fishy in some water. Evan called; he was making dinner, and yay, for me too! I wrapped warm bread in foil, packed my laptop, and put Fishy in a plastic bag, slipping it inside a paper bag for added protection. The sky hurled rain down on us, and I grabbed my umbrella. Swish, swish, through the puddles. To protect the computer, I had to shield the case with the umbrella. My bags were wet, but the bread and Fishy were both encased in their respective containers.

But not for long. As I was crossing the street, I watched with horror as the waterlogged paper bag in my right hand ripped. The plastic bag, Fishy's temporary home, flew through the air in what seemed like slow motion. I tried to catch Fishy, but it was too late. All I had was an empty bag.

I am a bad, bad person.

I am a serial fish kiler.