Brace yourselves for what I am about to tell you.
SHE’S ALIVE. THE CRAZY FISH IS ALIVE. Two hours after discovering her lying dead at the bottom of the disposal, I got the nerve to pull her out with tongs and give her the proper flushing she deserves. But what happened next, you ask? She wiggled, and I peed. My fiance screamed out loud in unison “she’s alive!” as we struggled to grab one of her fins with the tongs that so frequently turn our chicken on the grill. I finally got her out and launched her back into her martini glass. And like nothing happened at all, she swam around happy as a clam eating her breakfast. I have had a lot of fast ones pulled on me in my day, but never one this good. Props, Princess Barack Obama Frenchie Katrina Banana Hammock. This slow clap is for you.
