Pet Peeves

This week we welcome the arrival of Bemy and Chany to our home. The unfortunately named duo are two guppies that my five year old, Lanes, and her dutiful father, P, have sworn faithfully to look after. I have no idea why they were given such names, but that's what floats Lanes' boat and that's all that matters. I feel sorry in advance for my future grandchildren, who will have names only rock stars, vegan actresses and Lanes can dare to dream of.

Considering she has been dreaming about their arrival for a long time, we didn't say anything about their monikers. She had her heart set on goldfish, but it turns out that they require more water than a fish bowl can hold so we got her hooked on guppies.

The lady at the pet store patiently explained to me that, no, I can't go by what I have seen in cartoons. I guffowed inwardly at the thought of being duped by the world of animation, but P, on the other hand, knew this because he scoured the Internet for low maintenance, high survival rate fish, proper aquariums and water filters and what not. I was glad he is meticulous.

I just go with what the pet store folks tell me. The extent of my participation in this project was going to a fish store when Lanes was in her ballet class and coming back a little disgusted at the thought of feeding frozen blood worms to fish. That repelled me and the task of searching for Bemy and Chany was then all on P.

After P spent hours online, we went to the pet store before closing and found an aquarium that suited P's wish list.  He was then trying to micromanage the choices of pebbles and plant life for the tank but Lanes was adamant that we have hot pink gravel. Her father, batting on as he tends to do, was trying his best to show her other options to fit his vision.

Lanes tried to hold her ground and sighed and gave up.  The person working at the store was watching on silently, but I could tell she was itching to run to Lanes' aid. I was most interested in decor for the tank, and I was keeping tabs on this interaction from the sidelines up until this point.

I stepped in and laid down the law. I told P that it's her pet, so it's her choice (and I threw in there for good measure that it was her responsibility).  Although for us, her choice at the time seemed gaudy to say the least, this was all her project. I don't know how those fish are going to get any sleep with that neon pink color. Let's hope they are disco fish or something.

Three kilos of hot pink gravel later, father and daughter had a lovely bonding session preparing the tank and getting the water PH balanced. What happened to just getting water out of a tap? I guess this is why I'm not involved in these things. I would have thought it's mumbo jumbo.

After waiting patiently for 24 hours for the water to 'stabilize', they set off to get the fish the next day. I was going to stay home and enjoy the silence, but I decided I'll go for a walk, and by that I mean go 'window' shopping at a nearby IKEA while they were selecting the pets.

P absolutely hates to go to IKEA because he claims that when you enter the store, you have to walk around like a lab rat in a maze looking for cheese, in order to get out of the store. True, but I pretend it constitutes exercise. It's a little more fun for me than a stroll in a park. I'm not a woodsy sort.

They came to pick me up with two orange guppies, Bemy has an orange head and Chany has a yellow one. Talk about blond jokes, Chany is really slow on the uptake. Every time we put in fish food, Bemy zooms towards the flakes and gobbles them up--and then poops up a storm. Chany looks confused and can't find it, even when it literally hits him in the head.

We now spend evenings alternating between cheering Chany on and smacking our foreheads with our palms at his remarkable stupidity. I guess it is survival of the fittest and it's a good thing they have a two week guarantee.  I really don't know what to do about that one. He doesn't have two brain cells to rub together.

But they are not my charge. I have to keep saying this in writing. I have enough of a time taking care of the two humans in this apartment. Every time I do laundry, P leaves presents for me. It's bad enough that he puts more clothes in the hamper in one day than Karl Lagerfeld puts on the runway for his entire Spring collection, he likes to spice it up by adding things to the wash that just should not be there.

As I fight the elevators to go to our glorious communal washer/dryers, I always find much more than the garden variety tissues, receipts, or coins (talk about laundering money) scrunched up at the end of each cycle. Last week, I found his bottle of contact lens drops after the clothes were put in the dryer. The bottle was boiling hot and about to explode, and so was P, who was desperately searching for the vial. In the meantime, I had also rescued some of his keys that I nearly left downstairs thinking they weren't ours.

Yesterday, luckily I found his little tokens before the dryer cycle. I found a freshly washed food court caliber white spoon. Next thing I know I find a fork. Then another, and another. It was like clowns coming out of a clown car. In the end I found one spoon, seven forks, one knife and one straw. All in one wash. Somewhere out there there is a mall missing half of its utensils.

First of all, why was he walking around with all of those things in his pockets? Second of all, surely he would have felt them when he was tossing his pants into the wash? I was speechless. When I went  up and asked him about it, he grinned sheepishly and cut his eyes to Lanes, probably hoping to pawn the blame off on her and ruing the fact that she could now defend herself. I fear the day I find his cell phone in the laundry.

With that I must soon sign off and fish out a fish net and shoe laces from the wash cycle. I'll attach a picture of our ghetto fabulous tank in our ghetto fabulous apartment.  Next week, it's time for kindergarten! I don't think I'm going to sleep a wink this week. I must go and find creative yet legal ways to be able to loiter around Lanes. It might be a good time to invest in Kleenex stocks. I think I might go through my fair share while wondering how my baby grew up so fast! More musings from BC next week...

Dimwitted Chany looking up and Brilliant Bemy looking down