Wednesday, October 15, 2003
For April's birthday present, I considered purchasing a bird. An agency brought to school a few exotic birds that needed loving homes; I knew April would pee her drawers to own one of these smelly, noisy creatures. However, I reconsidered: The University of Texas dormitories do not allow birds. I then figuratively cursed the School Board, for I am now left with the dilemma of deciding on a thoughtful gift for my best friend's birthday. A big, ugly bird would have been perfect, but I must trash that option.at 5:03 PM
April's gifts to me through the years have been thoughtlessly thoughtful. An exemplar case of this is the goldfish (Prince Albert) she gifted me freshman year. April presumed, pragmatically enough [Bite me, Louis], that, as a mature fifteen year-old, I would care for Prince Albert capably [Bite me, Louis]. And I did take good care of him. It took less than forty-eight hours from the time April brought Prince Albert to my door for me to quite capably kill him. April, theoretical-God bless her little heart, knew goldfish prefer calm, freshwater environments- but I, unfortunately for Prince Albert's mortality, did not. For several minutes I shook his bowl back-and-forth (trying to re-create ocean waves, see) and consequently issued him a fatal heart attack. Prince Albert sleeps with the fishes. Oh, well. April learned something, though- in tenth grade she bought me a plant that requires no sunlight and no water. I still have it.
