the many lives of one kuai
or attack of the boozy girl
One Kuai is a fish. He's a happy little Chinese fish of the type which is locally called shi ze tou; lion head. One Kuai is called One Kuai because that was his price. He was given as a gift from The Girl to Claire. He also apparently has a secret name which is Edmund or Eugene or some such other name that conjures up images of pale, skinny English boys in school shorts. I really don't know why fish need secret names. To me he is One Kuai.
Normally One Kuai leads a rather boring existence, swimming around, eating pellets and making little bubbly noises. His only excitement is to jump out of the water like a trout.
Late the night before last though, the Girl came back from the pub where she was drinking with our local model UN members. She was a little deep in to her cups as is her wont on a Saturday evening. What happened when she got home was, in retrospect inevitable. Our house-shoes are stored in a little metal structure in the hallway, just around the corner from One Kuai, his lamp and a little bowl full of change that he guards. In a house which sees a fair share of boozy people trying to get to the bathroom through this hallway, that the house-shoes should be kicked and little One Kuai sent tumbling seems a fairly high probability. And so it was . . .
But One Kuai is a smart, lucky little fish. In the general tumble the aforementioned bowl was emptied of change and filled with water.Somehow, the change bowl landed upright. One Kuai, either by luck or skillful flopping ended up, not under the couch (Certain Unpleasant Death) but rather in the bowl. I found him in tight new quarters, but alive and breathing. He spent the rest of his night in a pot normally reserved for spaghetti (which I think I will clean after I'm done updating).
The Girl, in her state, felt horrible for what she had done to our beloved fish. The effects of alcohol and the process of memory encoding being what it is, she was convinced for a short time the next day that she had killed the fish. Then it was revealed that he was living a happy existence in a spaghetti bowl.
Now he has a new, nicer fish bowl, bought by the girl by way of apology.
One Kuai is a fish. He's a happy little Chinese fish of the type which is locally called shi ze tou; lion head. One Kuai is called One Kuai because that was his price. He was given as a gift from The Girl to Claire. He also apparently has a secret name which is Edmund or Eugene or some such other name that conjures up images of pale, skinny English boys in school shorts. I really don't know why fish need secret names. To me he is One Kuai.
Normally One Kuai leads a rather boring existence, swimming around, eating pellets and making little bubbly noises. His only excitement is to jump out of the water like a trout.
Late the night before last though, the Girl came back from the pub where she was drinking with our local model UN members. She was a little deep in to her cups as is her wont on a Saturday evening. What happened when she got home was, in retrospect inevitable. Our house-shoes are stored in a little metal structure in the hallway, just around the corner from One Kuai, his lamp and a little bowl full of change that he guards. In a house which sees a fair share of boozy people trying to get to the bathroom through this hallway, that the house-shoes should be kicked and little One Kuai sent tumbling seems a fairly high probability. And so it was . . .
But One Kuai is a smart, lucky little fish. In the general tumble the aforementioned bowl was emptied of change and filled with water.Somehow, the change bowl landed upright. One Kuai, either by luck or skillful flopping ended up, not under the couch (Certain Unpleasant Death) but rather in the bowl. I found him in tight new quarters, but alive and breathing. He spent the rest of his night in a pot normally reserved for spaghetti (which I think I will clean after I'm done updating).
The Girl, in her state, felt horrible for what she had done to our beloved fish. The effects of alcohol and the process of memory encoding being what it is, she was convinced for a short time the next day that she had killed the fish. Then it was revealed that he was living a happy existence in a spaghetti bowl.
Now he has a new, nicer fish bowl, bought by the girl by way of apology.
posted by otis @ 1:42 AM
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