desperate times call

The second I realized it I wanted to shoot myself.

Wait. Poor choice of words.

Let me start over: Anthony and I were walking back to the car from the mall. He was hugging the big plastic bag with half water, half air, and his brand new pet goldfish, grinning like a 7-year-old boy is supposed to grin. This is great, I thought. Getting him a goldfish was a great idea. He hasn’t smiled like this since the funeral.

That’s when I realized it. The idea poured into my slow dumb brain like molasses.

You don’t cheer up a little boy whose mother just died by getting him a pet with a life expectancy of five days.