A Going-Away Gift That Wouldn’t

Truth is I could think of worse parting gifts, slightly worse.

I mean, here was this fish , oddly bug-eyed and mottled, that was presented to my husband to remind him of a certain boss he would be leaving behind on his new job.

But, hey, I could live with it. And I knew, as a wife, that it would be I who would have to live with it.

I’ve never known a husband to clean a fishbowl.

Then on my way home from said farewell party, just me and the fish sloshing about in its bowl, I decided to adopt a more positive outlook. I thought, “What an opportunity!”

I thought, “Why, this fishbowl is not half-empty, it’s half-full!”

I thought: “Gee, I make just one more stop like that and all the water’s going to splash out of this bowl, and bingo! End of fish problem.”

Except then I thought of Nature. As I understand Nature, it is supposed to run its course. Best I can tell, this course is pretty much summed up by the motto: Living Things Are Born to Die. Especially goldfish.

So, what the heck, I thought maybe this fish would give me the chance to explore in an extremely sensitive parental-like fashion that delicate issue of dealing with the loss of a loved one.

As opposed to just flushing the thing down the toilet and being done with it.

I figured the fish would last maybe a day or two--a week, max--before I would awaken one morning to find it floating rather balefully on the top of the (scummy) water in its little bowl.

At this point, I would rouse my 5-year-old with a gentle yet firm shake of the shoulders and yell: “Look! Look! The fish is dead! Dead! Dead! Dead!”

And if she still wasn’t impressed by the sensitivity of my little talk, I might add: “But remember what I told you: It’s gone to a better place. That’s what happens to fish, and kids, who don’t brush their teeth.”

Inexplicably, however, I have yet to be given the chance to impart this particular wisdom. According to the primitive calendar-like markings on the wall directly above the fishbowl, the little Carassius auratus has been with us for 10 months now.

I don’t get it. Really. For starters, I thought its name alone would sink it. Goldie , my daughter anointed it.

“Goldie!” I thought. “Yes. Perfect. What an eponymous stroke of luck. Last thing I remember about Goldie was some bomb with Mel Gibson, wasn’t it? Or is it “Laugh-In” I’m thinking of?”

What I’m saying here is the omens looked so good. I was counting on a quiet fade-out for our Goldie too.

But then the next thing I know, I pick up “Vanity Fair” and see Goldie, the other one, wrapped in some elephant’s trunk on the cover. From what I understand, the cover spread really gave Goldie’s career a boost.

Oh, not that she’s had any hit movies or anything, but in the tradition of the nude-and-pregnant and then the nude-and-definitely- not -pregnant Demi Moore, when you think of Goldie now you don’t think of something that’s, say, dead in the water.

Like a fish, for instance. Our fish. I mean, I wish.

Believe me, it’s not that I’m plotting against a family pet or anything. And, for the record, pet is a definite misnomer when it comes to fish. When’s the last time you saw a handwritten sign at the grocery store offering a reward for some fish’s safe return?

Although if you have never had prolonged contact with a fish, you might not understand this. I know my neighbor does not.

Having agreed to feed our two cats while we were on vacation not long ago, she felt obliged to include the fish in the ritual as well. Fine.

But it seems Goldie did not take kindly to this change in custodianship.

Unable to reach us immediately while we were off tramping in the woods, the neighbor called my mother, who later tracked me down to report that Goldie was apparently near death. Fine. I mean, I thought I took it well.

OK, maybe a little too well, but such breaks don’t come along too often. . . .

But when I called the neighbor back to calm her down (my mother said she seemed pretty choked up about it all), she reported that she had changed Goldie’s water and apparently given this fish a new lease on life.

So now I have a new plan. I will tell my husband to take over Goldie’s care.

I’ve never known a husband to clean a fishbowl.