But what kind? On days like today, I feel more out of the user-car lot than the Detroit Auto Show. Mary Widdicks of Outmanned Mommy recently compared her body to a temple in an honest and witty diatribe.
My body is like a vehicle. On a long and winding road.
Long ago, off the assembly line, I had sleek lines (ish). Innovative engineering. Sporty performance and precision responsiveness. I reached college not a sports car, but definitely potential of high performance. New-car smell and everything.
No, this isn’t another post about Lance Armstrong, or lice. We’re past that. We’re talking goldfish. And I don’t mean the snack. It’s been just 48 hours of fish ownership, but it’s been a wild ride already.
It began with a movement.
Pleas to haul the tank out of the garage, scrub it, and fill it with gravel, plastic plants and fish. Camdyn begged me to research what it took to get a tank started. She posted lists everywhere: How often she’d feed them, and when, and how often she’d clean the tank.