Aquarium (n): a transparent container of water in which fish and other water creatures and plants are kept.
Sometimes I look back at the hiccups in my life and giggle over my choices, predilections and the fads that permeated my consciousness temporarily, only to fall to the wayside as a new idea punctured my awareness.
About fifteen years ago I decided I wanted an aquarium. I think I saw one in a movie, thought it was cool and believed it would be a conversation piece for individuals who came into my home and seemed incapable of speech.
I did what I usually did–researched the subject just enough to make me totally unqualified.
Unqualified, but verbose.
So I bought the tank, filled it with water, got the pellets, put in the little furniture, rocks and stuff to go along with it, and bought myself some fish.
Let me tell you–I selected my fish based upon what looked pretty and interesting. The proprietor of the pet shop, in great generosity, donated five gold fish, which looked rather bland and unappealing.
I threw all the fish together with no concern for cultural integrity.
In two or three days I noticed that my gold-fish were gone. I looked for them in the bottom of the tank, planning to retrieve them for a decent burial, but no luck. I looked along the sides, but not there either.
So I called my pet shop owner and he explained to me that those pretty fish I bought were…well, shall we say, cannibals.
They ate the gold-fish.
I asked him why he didn’t tell me that in the store and he gave that lame response often provided by shopkeepers.
“I thought you knew.”
So you see, much like my gold-fish, my interest in aquariums was short-lived. But it gave me pause for thought.
In the aquarium kingdom–and I assume paralleling into the human–the pretty and interesting fish always eat the dull and boring ones.
Thank you for enjoying Words from Dic(tionary) — J.R. Practix