Grocery Store Lament; or, Why are the Fish More Special than I?

I went to the grocery store today to buy a jug of distilled water. I walked down the horizontal center aisle, because that’s my aisle. From that vantage I can read the ceiling signs on either side.   If I strolled the store from either end, I wouldn’t be able to read the ceiling signs, and I would be lost without them.

When I found the sign for bottled water, I felt the thrill of a small victory. That feeling waned, however, as I studied the shelves. There were spring water and purified water, and mountain water, and infant water (which I’m pretty sure was just purified water in different packaging to trick exhausted new parents into spending money they don’t have on rarified water for their precious little progeny), and mineral water; but there was no distilled water.

I eventually found the distilled water on the laundry detergent aisle. The laundry detergent aisle! I only found it because as I continued to cruise down the center aisle, I saw a distilled water sale display on an endcap.

I thanked God for the horizontal center aisle and that endcap display. I sure didn’t want to go home empty-handed. The fish needed the water.

Yes. The fish.

We have goldfish. TG has one that she has managed to keep alive for some time. But alas, both of TB’s fish have gone on to a better bowl. 

The fish are fancy. They have geometric shaped tanks with rocks and plastic plants. TG’s fish even has a light. Furthermore, the fish luxuriate in baths of distilled water.

I bathe in plain old tap water.

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