Thank you very little.

Yesterday, the youngest and oldest came home from an overnight with their cousins. They were 1.42 seconds into the door when things went south.

"Come see the fish I got!"

Uhhh...what?

I thought I was on good terms with my Sister-in-law, but I must have gotten her a horrible Christmas present or something.

I'll skip the minutiae, but what followed was a pretty impressive Laying Down of the Law by Dad. It might have included a Preamble and several Commandments and a bunch of heretofores and whereas-es.

"I better not smell that thing" was probably the most definitive.

"Dad. It's not like we brought home a litter of puppies."

Touche'.

In reality, Dad probably made a whale of a deal (huh...get it..."whale") out of what will amount to a very, very short inconvenience for us and life for this poor ass fish.

It wasn't in the house for more than 3 minutes before it was flopping around in the kitchen sink. It got crammed back into the bowl, then fed 120x the amount of food it was supposed to.

Let's just say the adjustment period to its new environment involved a peculiar amount of the fish resting on its side on the bottom of the bowl.

Aptly named, "Blood" somehow managed to survive the night. I give it about a week before it's circling the toilet bowl.

God help that little fish.

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