I did in fact revive a goldfish when I was little. The goldfish I'd won at a local fair had expired in his bowl and it dawned on me to put an icecube in the water with him. I never used ice in drinks so I don't know why ice occurred to me. But I put it in his perfectly shaped little fishbowl. Then he arose from the dead. I still don't know the science behind this miracle, but I think I should make this act public in case I'm ever a candidate for sainthood and need supporting evidence.
The Maltese who looked a lot like Spike, more than is to be expected from standard inbreeding, felt very nice in my arms. I knew he wasn't mine or Spike, but I pretended he was for a little.
I woke up thinking about Leif, but that's to be expected. I can almost dislike him when I remember forwarding him news articles from my Yahoo News feed. In a world where I was still married I would have shared them with him. Leif wrote back after the 2nd or 3rd article, "Stop writing me, I'm not your friend".
My date today was canceled because my elderly suitor, texting for my benefit because I boycott voicemail, wrote "just had minor surgery and need to replan". This would have been a second date. No, not into him. Just want to be. But elderly suitors need ice in their fishbowls.
Youthful suitors are too youthful. I intentionally slept past my alarm and when my friend Michelle arrived at my apartment I had to warn her, "There's a naked boy in my bathroom". I warned him too and he came out in a towel, long hair dripping wet and perfect narrow waist and wide shoulders of a kid. He looked much better than when I bedded him, when he could have used a shower. I also helped him write his resume.
I didn't think anyone ever really had a hot wet person emerge from their bathrooms in a towel, outside of TV, but apparently it happens. Michelle's comment after I gently dispersed him, "How old is he?".
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| Future remedial cross stitch project. |
