Zach (age 19) got two new Beta fish over the weekend. You can’t put them together because they’ll fight to the death, so Zach’s aquarium has a separator in it. Since Zach is such a busy guy and is rarely home, and since we have four cats, the rest of us placed a friendly family wager on how long the fish would survive. Frank bet three weeks, Ali bet six weeks, I bet three months (the 4th of July to be exact), and Richard just rolled his eyes and shook his head.
Zach left to have breakfast with his girlfriend and, a few minutes later, Frank yelled from upstairs, “Mom! Help!! The fish are together!!!”
I grabbed the ladle out of the kitchen drawer and tossed it to Ali as she ran past me and up the back stairs to help. They managed to separate the fish and fixed the problem. I called Zach’s cell phone and chided, “Aren’t you glad Frank didn’t listen to you when you told him to stay out of your room?”
A little while later, I heard Frank yelling the same thing again. And, Ali once again raced up the stairs to help.
I called up after her, “I’M CHANGING MY BET TO TODAY!”
Hugs to everybody!
P.S. Write your autobiography this year!
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