oscar.

Jump to Comments

I think my parents had it right all along.  We were not allowed to win goldfish at our school carnivals or our camp carnivals or the town carnival.  Goldfish were not an acceptable prize for the ring toss; stuffed animals and slap bracelets were.

So when I rescued Oscar (formerly known as Harvey) from the dreary dining room table of 2122 Massachusetts Avenue, I kept it a secret from my parents for all of 5 hours.  But once my mom realized that a pet goldfish meant she could offload her ugly glass vase on me, guilt free, she was an eager accomplice.

Oscar weathered the journey from the dining room table in Washington, DC, to the 4 hour bus ride, sitting at my feet in an Ann Taylor bag in a pint-sized deli container with holes on the top, to the E train at 34th Street to the 6 train at 53rd Street to the pet store on 86th Street to my house.  He has held up resiliently, despite my innocent attempts at his life.  See, I love my fish.  I can’t help it that I think he’s adorable when he laps up little fish flakes.  And that I feed him three times a day.  I can’t help it that his deli container gets all cloudy bc I (over)feed him like any Jewish mom would.  I can’t help that I disliked all the ugly tanks in the fish store and that I’m waiting for his perfect new home to arrive at mine, via my mom and her ugly vases.  I’m just trying to make him comfortable.

But until then, Oscar is being strong.  He is adorable cute swimming in the wake meals gone untouched, making googly eyes at me in the cloudy water of his deli container on my dresser.  He loves it here.  I can just tell.

2 Comments

Filed under Uncategorized