We took the heathens to the fair last weekend, which was fun…in a slightly nauseating way.
While there, both my husband and the clowns were seduced by the expensive and ridiculous carnival games, and we played so many, we probably could have funded a small country for a day. About halfway through this binge, the boys passed the dreaded goldfish game…ya know, the one where you sink a ping pong ball in a goldfish bowl, and subsequently win a fish?
As a rational and reasonable person, do YOU think it is wise to let two incredibly sensitive children under the age of 9 play this game?
OF COURSE NOT!!! Why? Because we both know that dang fish is going to be dead in a day.
I begged my husband to walk on by, but did he listen? Oh, no. He says, “But honey…..it is part of the whole Fair experience.”
Ten minutes later, we ended up with two little plastic aquariums of goldfish, and I walked away with the dread of knowing what was to come.
Sure enough, right about bedtime last night, I noticed that my youngest’s goldfish was, in fact, dead. I snuck it out of his room, and promptly told his daddy that HE gets to handle this one.
And how did he do this? My poor husband could not face the thought of crushing our baby’s dream, so he made an emergency run to Walmart, and got another fish that was as close of a substitute as he could find.
It must not have been as close as he thought, because this morning, we hear, “Daddy, look!! My fish GREW!!!”
I tried not to snicker, while simultaneously rolling my eyes that my husband had avoided the uncomfortable fish funeral.
About 15 seconds later, my oldest realized that HIS fish was unnaturally still.
As my husband mouthed a curse word or ten, I tried to contain my laughter.
Wanna bet who DOESN’T play the goldfish game next year?