This past week, our biggest fish, our Sucky Dude died. He was a healthy sized guy who must have been about ten to twelve inches long and about four inches wide. Well on Saturday morning I wolke Storm up to give him instructions on how to dispose of his remains. I told him to make sure he went into the kitchen trash because of his size. In the past, most of our other fish had quaint little ceremonies with flushing revelries. Buh buh buh... Buh buh buh... and so forth. Well I knew there was no way this one would make it down, especially when my husband, the plumber, has warned me in the past that even a q-tip is a danger to flush down the toilet. So when my instructions were clear, I went off to the church for basketball practice with my girls.
That night I used my sons bathroom and the darned thing was having a real rough time flushing. When I quickly called for my very own plumber to come to my rescue, he flew off the couch to see what the problem was. That's when I witnessed the look of panic in my son's eyes as he explained that maybe it was the fish. "WHAT? the ten to twelve inch long fish, the one that would have made a healthy month long dinner for the cat. The one that couldn't have possibly been flushed down the toilet, by my son who was given instructions on what to do with the fish ."
"But Mom... Dad told me to," he responded. It was true, my husband, the plumber, had told my son to flush the beast down the toilet , that morning after I had left. Oh the agony he must have felt as I scolded him over and over, " You told our son to flush a ten inch long fish down the toilet? I cant believe it!" He had to ogger the toilet twice to get the fella out of the pooper and down the sewer line to his watery grave.
Wouldn't you know it, by Monday night, my main sewer line was clogged up and while the plumbers wife was calling a plumber to come the next morning, it dawned on me that my problem was not regrowth on the roots my husband had just snaked out a month ago, but it was that blasted fish, the ten to twelve inch long fish, the one who should have been placed in the kitchen trashcan, then taken out to the big cans outside. My poor husband will never hear the end of "My Big Fish Story", a story I will never let him forget.
