Quite frankly, the fish is not a prank. The fish is a gift. What person would not squee with delight upon throwing open their curtains of a dreary and bleak winter morning to be greeted by the glowing gems of multi-coloured ice fish? It’s the sort of gift you didn’t know you wanted until it’s yours. And then, Dear Reader, and then! There you are, gifted with these beautiful jewels, resplendent in the winter sun and snow! Glistening at every angle! Reflecting and refracting!
A prank, would have some kind of not so great, funnier for me than it is for you sort of consequence. The only consequence of the fish is that they are awesome and once you have seen them then you, too, will be awesome. You will have your childlike delight and imagination restored forthwith! You will be immediately in possession of unicorn horns and an overwhelming sense of innocence! Seriously, they are the next best thing to world peace.
I’m a fan of goals and things that have purpose, though my definition of ‘purpose’ is a bit… loose. Putting a smile on my face is sometimes more than enough purpose. Sometimes it’s too much actually, but that’s a story for another time.
At any rate, I’ve been trying desperately to rally a decent level of enthusiasm for my fish project. The Mom is fairly keen as now there is no threat of gelatine and therefore she will not need to hang her head in shame due to her supposed inability to work with the substance. L’il Sis is interested and was kind enough to secure the food colouring that was needed. She even suggested ways to enhance the hue of my fleet of fish. Crazy D however remained unmoved. His look of disdain for my childish interests grows stronger with every passing fish. He does not get worked up – he barely notices – when The Mom and I decant yet another fine specimen.
Crazy D is himself not immune to doing strange and unusual things, but these generally involve him taunting and thwarting death at some point. The fish project poses no immediate threat of death, which could be the reason he is less than enthralled with it. There was a time when he would rise to the occasion and get as silly if not sillier than everyone else at the table. But this year, Crazy D has an added level of seriousness that is really putting a damper on my fish.
Where has the man who used to get The Mom to help him make chicken tights gone? I mean, he dresses like Darth Vader on his snow bicycle, surely a series of brightly coloured ice fish are not beneath him?
I have been informed that, come Sunday night, the night we will launch the fish on the neighbour’s lawn, he will help, but as he’s not rising to the level of insanity that I know we could easily achieve, I wonder if it might be better to leave him at home to do something more perfunctory. I do believe he is trying his best to contain my weirdness. Thing is, he doesn’t realise his approach is completely wrong. What he should do is what The Mom does: get extremely excited about whatever it is I’m proposing to do and continue to provide ever stranger ideas and suggestions until the initial weirdness pales in comparison and I lose the will to do anything about it.