My daughter does not care for most meat. She tolerates pork and abhors beef or chicken. You can imagine my surprise when she laid claim to fish as her favourite food. Her very favourite dinner is "chipfish" which is snapper or cod baked in crushed chips. She would eat it every day if she could. Serve it with broccoli and she's in heaven. Odd little person.
For the past year, we've had a betta fish she named "Simi". Simi was a beautiful fish; red with a blue tinge and a fan tail. Simi liked to be talked to. He would come to the tank and wiggle when you spoke near his tank. He was a good fish. He died last week. My daughter accepted his death with what I thought was grace. Turns out, she's got a cruel streak, this child. Sitting at the dinner table tonight, stabbing her chipfish and shoving it merrily into her mouth, she asked, "Hey, what did you do with Simi when he died?"
"Buried him," I said, which isn't completely true. Truth is, I pitched him with the red gravel, silently apologizing for his undignified send off. It was garbage day the next day, so can you blame me?
"Oh," she said, setting her fork down and grinning. "You should've cooked him. I like dead fish on my plate."
Another good reason to sleep with one eye open.
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