What’s ours is yours

I took the youngest to the pet shop last night to get a Siamese Fighting Fish.

I gave her a desk for her birthday, her dad gave her a fish tank. It’s a very nice fish tank, with a filter and heater and rocks and fake plants … but no fish.

I was kind of hoping the fish sourcing and fish housing and fish feeding and inevitable fish death (oh the money I’ve spent on buying and accidentally killing Siamese Fighting Fish over the years) could remain with my ex, since he bought the farking tank.

But no, the youngest wants the fish to live at my place because she has her own bedroom here, as opposed to sharing a room with her sister at her dad’s place.

The fractious relationship between the siblings means the youngest doesn’t want to share any of the joy of a Siamese Fighting Fish with her sister.

Sigh. Something else for me to look after when I’m not looking after the kids.

I already have too much stuff I inherited when the marriage died. My ex took virtually nothing with him when he departed – a few kitchen utensils, a mattress, a bookcase.

He had no interest in the art, antiques or furniture that we’d accumulated over the course of our relationship.

I’ve become increasingly disinterested in all those shared possessions that are now solely mine. If I lucked into a lottery win most of them would be turfed onto the front yard for a garage sale.

Their shared significance is gone and I want to start afresh.

But, since a lottery win is NOT on the cards, I’m stuck with the physical baggage of a 23-year relationship as well as the emotional stuff.

I wasn’t expecting to add new baggage to the equation.

Farking Siamese Fighting Fish.

Although its days might already be numbered. When we arrived home from the pet shop I heard a loud slap and turned around to discover the youngest had dropped the bag of water containing the Siamese Fighting Fish on the kitchen floor.

Do Siamese Fighting Fish get concussion? Can it be fatal?

Song of the day: Split Enz “Shark attack”

 

 

 

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