There was also plenty of live music. I tortured The Hoff by making him sit through his first country concert. Phil Vassar, my favorite country artist, was performing and there was no way I was going to miss his show. (Besides, he’s an alumnus of our college so we're practically family.)
By the end of the day, I was slightly intoxicated from a mix of beer and standing in the sun for 6+ hours. In my inebriated state, I jumped up and down and shrieked like a little girl when The Hoff and I passed the goldfish game. (You know, the one where you try to throw a ping pong ball into a fishbowl and win a goldfish.)
I’m not sure what came over me because it’s not like I’ve been desperately wanting a goldfish. My life hasn’t been so incomplete that I need a slimy, smelly creature of the sea swimming around in a glass bowl to keep me company while I down bottles of wine and watch marathons of The Hills.
Needless to say, The Hoff and I suck at life and couldn’t get the ball into a bowl (that’s what she said?). I did manage to hit one of the attendants in the head, and I told the guy that was worth at least 10 goldfish…he didn’t agree.
At least he didn't let us walk away empty-handed. Our consolation prize was three of the reject fish they were practically paying people to take off their hands. Two of them looked like this, but smaller.
Call me crazy but I thought goldfish were supposed to look more like this...or at least be orange/gold.
The third one was a more acceptable size but had a pink tint – still nowhere close to the correct hue.
I was so excited I didn’t even care. I skipped around with those minnows, displaying them like they were a 20-lb. sea bass I had just caught with my bare hands.
Unfortunately, for the fishies, The Hoff and I were too tired and dazed to stop on the way home for fish food and an aquarium. So, we decided to improvise and let them reside in a beer pong pitcher for the time being. If humans enjoy beer so much, we figured fish would as well.
If only getting the fish into the container was as simple as finding them temporary housing...
The Hoff and I got two fish successfully into the pitcher and were working on the third. Just as he opened the bag to pour the last one in, one of us knocked the pitcher over, sending two of the fish down the garbage disposal.
I immediately freaked out, called us fish murderers and declared that we’d have bad karma for a good 50 years for what we just did. Luckily, there was a flashlight nearby, so I pointed it down the disposal and saw the two fish still alive, gasping for air.
“Please get them out, The Hoff!” I cried. “Don’t let them suffer!”
You'd think this was a beloved pet I’d owned for ten years, not some free minnow I "won" two hours ago from a carnival the way I was carrying on.
Needless to say, The Hoff and I were able to save them by creating a scooping contraption with two spoons.
Miraculously, all the fish were still alive the next morning.
Fast forward to today.
After being fed a hearty meal last night (per the instructions of a PetSmart employee), only one of them is still alive. We’ve named her Lucky Bitch. The other two small, silver minnows, Bob and Ginger (aka the red-headed step children), bit the dust. Maybe they sucked up too much beer residue.
Oh well, The Hoff and I like Lucky Bitch better anyway.
...we’re going to make great parents someday.
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