A Fishy Game of Clue: The Big Bang and Boom Theory

First of all, I am down to 181.6 as of this morning! I think I really am back on track this time. I’m working out, eating right, and all that jazz. It’s coming off slowly, but it’s back to coming off. If I can keep an average loss of 1.5 pounds a week, I could be at 138 in 30 weeks!!! (That’s only a 7 months. I can do 7 months.) (I WILL DO 7 MONTHS!)

Second of all, I did not go to water aerobics today because I am having major sinus issues again. Our weed pollen count is through the roof here in central Illinois, and it’s driving my nose crazy. I can’t go anywhere without my trusty roll of toilet paper. Cause I’m too cheap to buy tissues.

And finally, Mother Nature has yet to hit. Of course, the one month my purse is packed and ready for her, she’s running late. What a beast she is! Until then, I am dealing with residual water retention and frantic checking of panties for her arrival. (And random keys…)

OK, so on Monday night we discovered that our 8 year old son Tim had lost his pet fish. Needless to say, the actual fish outlived the excitement and promise of responsibility of said fish at time of purchase. In otherwords, Tim usually forgot he had a fish and mom fed it and cleaned the tank.

I had moved “Sonny the Beta” and his small tank into the kitchen on Monday morning so I could give him or her fresh water. Again. Betas are nasty little fish. Their water gets mucky so fast! Anyhoo, when I went to clean the tank later that day, “Sonny” had gone belly up. I put him in a Tupperware container with some water to dump him into the toilet for his sailor’s burial without flushing those stupid teeny tiny rocks in our commode.

I went into the kids’ room and told Tim his fish had croaked. Of course, I said it a lot more sympathetic than that, because Tim takes death pretty hard. I rubbed his back as I told him, waiting for the waterworks to start flowing and the hysterics to hit of replacing Sonny immediately.

Instead, Tim wanted to see the fish body and poke at it. To make sure he was really dead and not sleeping. We went to the kitchen and looked in the plastic container. And Tim poked. And he looked.

I asked him if he wanted to flush Sonny or bury it. (Eitherway, I was already planning on having a fishy funeral. We once buried a fish outside in the frozen ground. It’s our family’s grieving process, I guess) Instead, Tim requested that we wait till morning just in case the fish comes around and starts swimming again. I told him that wasn’t likely, but that was fine. And I kept the lid off the Tupperware so that the dead fish wouldn’t suffocate. Just in case he had taken up a new hobby of swimming upside down.

The kids went to VBS, I went walking with Tricky Nikki, and Matt spent the evening on the computer. And the whole family went to bed.

But I woke up at 3am with a ferocious headache. So I grabbed some sinus medicine from the bathroom and went into the kitchen to get a drink. I didn’t think about turning on the lights, because I could see well enough.

What I couldn’t see was that Puppy (our family cat) had knocked over the “possibly living but most definitely dead” fish’s Tupperware container off the counter and on the floor. And as I stepped with my bare feet into the kitchen, I slipped and fell on my kiester.

BIG BANG AND BOOM.

I stood up quickly and flipped on the kitchen light, looked at the water all over the floor and figured Puppy had made a sushi meal out of Sonny. I wiped up the floor and then realized my foot was still wet. I lifted my foot to wipe it off.

And I found Sonny.

Squished on the bottom of my foot.

And in-between my toes a little.

Which made my headache worse.

And I kinda wanted to throw up.

So there I am, sitting in my nightgown on the kitchen floor, wiping fish guts off my foot at 3am. And trying to figure out how to tell Tim I had completely decimated his “possibly living but most definitely dead” fish and not have him think there was fishy murder afoot. (Groan)

I had wiped my foot clean, but once you step on a dead fish and have it pop like a zit under the weight of you, you realize the desperate need for antibacterial soap. So I headed over to the sink to grab the washcloth and some soap.

And that was when the mouse came running up from the bottom of the kitchen sink.

And I screamed. Not because I am scared of mice, but because the situation had surprised me. All of a sudden, walking through the house with residual dead fish guts to the bathroom didn’t seem like a bad idea. So I heeled it to the bathroom and cleaned up.

I think I have figured out what happened. This is exactly like the game of Clue.

The family went to bed. Puppy went into the kitchen and heard a mouse. She jumped on the counter to catch the mouse, (because otherwise she knows she is dead meat if I catch her on my counter) and the mouse hid under my skillet in the sink, which was waiting to go in the dishwasher. Meanwhile, Puppy was probably pacing on the counter, trying to figure out how to get to the mouse, and knocked Sonny and his/her Tupperware container on the floor. Which knowing Puppy, probably scared the living daylights out of her. To which she hopped down off the counter and ran to our bedroom to hide. On top of me. Which woke me up, and made me realize that I had a headache. To which I went into the kitchen to get a drink and stepped on the “possibly living but most definitely dead” Sonny with a big bang and a boom. Meanwhile the mouse was still shaking under my skillet, and realized that if it didn’t get out of there soon, the sleepy looking blonde monster was going to find it and kill it. To which it hopped out of the sink and ran for better cover and made the sleepy blonde monster scream.


I don’t make this stuff up, people. Truth is fishier than fiction.