Fish |
"Our fish time is running out," Jason said, sliding the chocolate syrup back into the refrigerator and handing his daughter her chocolate milk. |
"You think so?" Kelly, his wife, asked as she finished rinsing the dishes from breakfast. |
"What are you talking about?" I asked, handing out spoons to the two girls sitting at the kitchen table. "Okay, eat your applesauce," I said. |
"Fish time," Jason, the boy, now man, who had been the valedictorian of my high school class, said in all seriousness. "Guests' welcome tends to run out in about the same time as fish goes bad in the fridge. About three days." |
"Look," I said, "As long as you keep washing my dishes, you can stay as long as you want." |
Kelly and Jason both laughed. They were visiting from their home in New Jersey, and we had been discussing the possibility of their staying one more day for a trip to the zoo. |
No matter how much you love the people visiting, there does seem to be an unwritten time limit. Beyond that number of days and your beloved friends or family turn into obstacles to get over or avoid living in your house. They begin to be uncomfortable because they are out of their element, and you begin to be uncomfortable because they are in your element. It may be as simple as the fact that you have run out of towels, again. Or you've had to run out for more coffee. Or you missed your favorite television program. You know in your mind that these things are trivial, but they begin to bother you just the same. |
In the end, we decided to chance leaving the fish in the fridge for one more day. I'm glad that we did. |
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