I give him a week

So the cherry on top is that some teacher gave my kid a FISH.

In a bag.

I was at choir, trying not to smite my nemesis, who frankly sounds a wee bit like Kermit the Frog. (We are in church. Think Kumbaya, Carly.) I came home from a LONG rehearsal, and found Squirt. Oy. He already has a name. Dead fish swimming, folks. The name ain't gonna help.

The fish can't stay in the bag. (I assume.)

I don't have a fish bowl. I have various bowls that I don't think would work. I have no fish FOOD. I have no fish-pertise in any form.

I wanted to dump him into this big glass candleholder that was vaguely fishbowl shaped but, I could not figure out if I could just POUR the whole bag in. It seemed like I would end up bonking his poor little fish head on the glass, no matter how gently I pour.

While the stupid boys of the household who brought this to my home fish are off to Walmart, I have the bowl in a dish, but I just went over to check on it and he was kind of stuck in a corner. Great. So I have a fish that wants to be sushi.

Coincidentally (or perhaps not) he freaks out whenever I go over and peer at the bag to see if he's gotten stuck in another corner again.

Poor Squirt.

And no, I haven't had any wine yet. I have to deal with the fish first.