When I was 9, I won four goldfish at my school carnival. My mom hated them, but I was excited to have a small tribe of creatures depend on me as their sole source of... Well, everything. I felt like their god. And I could be loving or wrathful or negligent, depending on how my day went. My first, and basically only, responsibility came with naming them. At that point in my life I watched a lot of the history channel. And I wanted to give them somewhat matching names, so I settled on War, Famine, Pestilence, and Death. My mom hated them even more after that.
And imagine my horrified response to the lack of dramatic irony in my life when Death was the first to die.
My blogs make me laugh out loud. Is that bad?
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2 comments:
Laughing is better than crying, and as far as the fish go, I feel your pain. A similar story unfolded about the same time in my life. I won no fewer than 10 goldfish and, knowing I would not be able to care for them, I embarked on my first exploration of the great land known as Capitolism. I feel bad, looking back on it, I took advantage of those too young to understand, but I sold the fish and I was happy.
You know, before I read the last line of your entry I was wondering to myself , "is it okay to be laughing so much at a computer screen?" And then I was at ease when i figured you do the same. Pestilence, eh?
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