Sure someone mumbled something at me the other day (three days ago? Friday night? Yesterday morning? – sometime, anyway) about the something something. I don’t recall. Under the circumstances at the time, it wasn’t interesting and didn’t register.
We had some friends over for dinner last night; roast lamb followed by individual choc self saucing puddings – yum. And after we saw them out and I did the final Glance at Kitchen, Sigh, And Say “Fuck It, I’ll Worry About It Tomorrow” thing, I noticed it.
Not looking terribly lively at all. Until I poked him, that is. Because that’s what you do, right? Poke the goldfish lying on it’s side at the top of the fish bowl?
Still, I advised the kids that Ponyo was not long for this world.
“Can we get another one?” asked Monkey Boy.
“Well, he’s not dead, yet! And no, its nearly bloody midnight!”
“Can we get another one?” asked Godzilla.
“PISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” yelled Chippie.
And we all went to bed.
I know he’s on his way out of this life, but I really could have done without the 6.32am wakeup.
The LOUD WHISPER that only children can muster up at innapropriate times.
“Mummmmm? Mum? Mum? Mum? MUM!?” Godzilla loudly whispers in my ear at stupid hour after not having had much sleep. “Ponyo is walking on the bottom of the bowl on his FINS!”
Awesome, at least he’s not dead. Yet.
Now please, shut UP!
Is it wrong that at 6.23am I don’t really give a fuck?
Also, the microwave, we discovered, was also very dead. Lights were on when you pushed its buttons, but definitely nobody home. Stone cold dead. Also, my butter didn’t melt so I could make dessert. This is how we knew it was dead.
We don’t believe there is any connection between the death of the micorwave and the looming death of the goldfish. We are fairly sure, but given we have a house full of boy we can’t be 100%, that the microwave and fish have ever met.