Endurance

If my goldfish can live for 8 years in a bowl in our den, never complain, and even fit in time to philosophize (obviously, duuuuuh, his name is Aristotle)...Then I can prevail.

I am, like, the kid with the inhaler in one hand and the harmonica in the other.

The Harmonica is not going as planned. I do not have enough air in my lungs, I have trouble bending notes, its just not happening. Mind you, I still have potential to make incredible amounts of noise. This just means I have to pick up the accordion again, and my family will have to eat it.

Aristotle doesn't care. He actually likes polka music, as well as country, rap and Uncle Moishy. He like Gregorian chants and mordechai ben david. I think he likes the music I hate just to piss me off. He is a truly ugly fish. Most goldfish die in their prime when they are young and beautiful. Aristotle is a catankerous, cancerous, gray, mottled, unkempt, ick, wandery-googly eye specimen. He is the size of your average cigar and home to ninety-eight million bacteria.

We obviously have a love/hate relationship.

I have attempted to give him away (even though he belongs to my family, we each try to place ownership on someone else, I think we have been lying to my mom that she brought it home for so long, she now believes us). Tis a reverse custody battle: No one wants him.

Anyway, I think I am coming down with strep. I cannot remember why I decided to tell you about our pet, or harmonicas for that matter. I think I shall exit, ahem, gracefully...okay? Good night.