Yesterday I wrote a post that was pretty nasty in its vehemence toward people who love fish…too much.
Today I discovered that a fish in the aquarium at work who I named Diane, but who I also have called “The Fish Who Loves Me,” was nowhere to be found. I’m certain she has died, and that it’s doubtful any remnants of her carcass were left by the other fish in the tank.
I cursed fish love, and the God Poseidon cursed me by taking Diane away.
I once wrote a story about Diane. “The Clownfish Incident” is not a good story, but it is a story about Diane. (I know Diane is not a clownfish. Read the story to find out why I called it that, you asshole, and leave me alone so I can cry.)