When the only man I’ve ever come close to marrying moved out after I broke off the engagement, he left me with his tropical fish. I begged him not to, but the separation arrangements included the absolute stipulation that I keep the fish tank. If I insisted on him taking the fish tank, he made clear, he would be forced to terminate the fish.
After the termination of our relationship, the termination of the fish was too much. So I offered a safe haven to the little mites, unfathomable to me though they were. If I had known how long they would live, I would have felt a good deal more daunted.
Blithely, I thought fish conked out after a few years, tops. But ensconced in their luxury tank with me diligently checking the Ph value as the ex-fiancé instructed, the fish went from strength to strength.
Two of them in particular proved almost indestructible.
Comments
Join the debate for just $5 for 3 months
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for $5.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just $5 for 3 monthsAlready a subscriber? Log in