My husband and daughter went on a mission yesterday to buy 10 new goldfish. The last of her tiger barbs having passed away a week ago. They brought them home and put them in the fish tank and unfortunately, as often happens when shocked with a new environment, one of them died.
My husband, while believing that the short person was in the living room, fished the deceased from the tank and carried it to the garbage can.
"Whatcha doing Dad?" A little voice said just seconds before the fish hit the can.
"Well, one of your fish died so I'm throwing it away."
"Let me look." The short person peered into the garbage can and then wrapped her arms around her little tummy and in a dire voice said, "I think I'm gonna be sick, Dad."
"It's okay. It will be alright. Your other fish are still okay. Do you want to feed your other fish?"
In a low serious voice she answered, "No, I'm just freaking out right now, Dad."
"Oh, okay."
Awhile later (probably about three minutes), my husband asked again. "Do you want to feed your fish now?"
"No, I'm still freaking out, Dad." The short person walked over to her fish tank, climbed into the stool by the counter and watched her other nine swim for a few minutes before declaring that she was ready. Or rather, "I'm done freaking out now, Dad."
The other nine fish all still live happily ever after.
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