Most days, around 1:30pm, my Neighbour knocks on our door. She’s come to collect one of The Kids. But not both. Which is fine because we don’t work like that. Life isn’t always fair.
Last week, she took Max for the first time. Five minutes after she left, there was a knock on the door and there she was, out of breath, with Max. He’d changed his mind.
For the first and last time.
Yesterday, when she came to get Artemis, Max got upset. He wanted to go. But she couldn’t take both and wasn’t interested in running a 400m sprint back to our house, uphill, while dragging a kid. So, I grabbed my gear and the four of us set off to pick up her son, Alexander at school.
On our way home, Alexander scooted into the fish store. The Kids quickly followed and it was a feast of the senses.
The aerators gurgled, the heat of the lights made you feel like you were in a tropical paradise and the thousands of fish darted back and forth. The Kids wanted to know about everything. From the colours, to the tanks and the different varieties of aquatic life. The young girl manning the store didn’t mind a bit.
Fifteen minutes later and $10MXN poorer, Alexander walked out with a Goldfish.
Note that while my Neighbour tried to convince me my fate should be the same, I didn’t cave. Besides, The Kids were more interested in playing frisbee in the street and feeding bones to the street dogs.
And so we all forgot about the Goldfish.
Until yesterday, when Artemis came walking up the street, heading home from her daily trip with our neighbour, carrying a plastic bag with what looked suspiciously like a Goldfish.
Let me say that I don’t have anything against goldfish. The smaller the better in my opinion. Less chance of clogging the drain when they go to fish heaven. Which is where this one is going. Quite honestly, I’m surprized it survived the night. With all the dancing and eating that thing did, it won’t be long.
Being the nice person I am, I thanked my neighbour profusely. I made it very clear, and no translation was required that I was being 110% sarcastic in my appreciation.
Thankfully, when we leave in two weeks, she has agreed to babysit “Bubba” until we come back.
Ever Had an Unwanted Pet?
P.S. We all know who’s going to have to look after the thing… yours truly.
Important but Sad Update. After less than 48 hours living with us, Bubba is sleeping forever. The moral of the story, be careful what you wish for.