NaNoWriMo Day 13
Bride of Tranqility
Word Count -- 21,723
“Which rumors?”
“Word around town was that Rachell went kinda wedding crazy. She's planning on having all kinds of critters in the wedding. Walkin' down the asile. Sitting on the cake. Sitting in the family section.
“Kind of like a Disney movie,” David muttered. In his mind, he could picture Rachel walking down the aisle, with Mr. Bluebird on her shoulder. It sounded like it should be cute. But was probably actually one of those nightmares waiting to happen.
In his own mind, he remembered the wedding that his ex-fiancée, Jody, had been planning. He'd been only to happy to let her take care of the details. He'd been tied up with finishing his residency at that point. But as the wedding day drew nearer, she'd become increasingly passive aggressive.
Her one attempt to “involve” him in the wedding had been an unmitigated disaster. She'd called him while he was supposed to be following one of the doctors on rounds. While the physician looked at him with ice-cold murder in his eyes, Jody had talked to him with lukewarm affection.
“I need you to pick me up some fish,” She said by way of hello.
“Fish?” Instantly, he was assaulted with visions of the flower girl, strewing sturgeon down the aisle rather than rose petals. Or possibly they were to be used in place of rice during the getaway. Although that sounded more like something the best man should be planning, rather than the bride. Had his intended been reading up on obscure Finnish wedding customs?
“Betas,” she said. “You know those bright fish with the fins? I’m going to put them in bowls with floating candles for the centerpieces. I got the idea from this salon I’m at. They have them in these little clear planters on the walls. . ”
Later, when he'd broken away from his duties, he'd found a computer and looked them up on the Internet. Apparently, the Beta is also known as the Siamese fighting fish. Siamese, because they come from Asia, where they live in mucky, freshwater rice paddies, and breathe oxygen from the surface.
By his caluclations, when the water gets low enough, say, about the depth of a tabletop centerpiece bowl (or a clear, wall-mounted planter in a salon), the beta will launch itself out of the water, like a kamikaze goldfish, in an attempt to land in a deeper, nearby puddle.
About five minutes after David looked up the information, Jody called him back.
“Never mind. It’s raining fish over here,” She said in a tone of voice that left little doubt that it was David's fault, and he would be sleeping on the couch for the next week. “I don’t want that at the wedding.”
“It could be worse,” David told Bubba philosophically.
“How?”
“It could be raining fish.”
Word Count -- 21,723
“Which rumors?”
“Word around town was that Rachell went kinda wedding crazy. She's planning on having all kinds of critters in the wedding. Walkin' down the asile. Sitting on the cake. Sitting in the family section.
“Kind of like a Disney movie,” David muttered. In his mind, he could picture Rachel walking down the aisle, with Mr. Bluebird on her shoulder. It sounded like it should be cute. But was probably actually one of those nightmares waiting to happen.
In his own mind, he remembered the wedding that his ex-fiancée, Jody, had been planning. He'd been only to happy to let her take care of the details. He'd been tied up with finishing his residency at that point. But as the wedding day drew nearer, she'd become increasingly passive aggressive.
Her one attempt to “involve” him in the wedding had been an unmitigated disaster. She'd called him while he was supposed to be following one of the doctors on rounds. While the physician looked at him with ice-cold murder in his eyes, Jody had talked to him with lukewarm affection.
“I need you to pick me up some fish,” She said by way of hello.
“Fish?” Instantly, he was assaulted with visions of the flower girl, strewing sturgeon down the aisle rather than rose petals. Or possibly they were to be used in place of rice during the getaway. Although that sounded more like something the best man should be planning, rather than the bride. Had his intended been reading up on obscure Finnish wedding customs?
“Betas,” she said. “You know those bright fish with the fins? I’m going to put them in bowls with floating candles for the centerpieces. I got the idea from this salon I’m at. They have them in these little clear planters on the walls. . ”
Later, when he'd broken away from his duties, he'd found a computer and looked them up on the Internet. Apparently, the Beta is also known as the Siamese fighting fish. Siamese, because they come from Asia, where they live in mucky, freshwater rice paddies, and breathe oxygen from the surface.
By his caluclations, when the water gets low enough, say, about the depth of a tabletop centerpiece bowl (or a clear, wall-mounted planter in a salon), the beta will launch itself out of the water, like a kamikaze goldfish, in an attempt to land in a deeper, nearby puddle.
About five minutes after David looked up the information, Jody called him back.
“Never mind. It’s raining fish over here,” She said in a tone of voice that left little doubt that it was David's fault, and he would be sleeping on the couch for the next week. “I don’t want that at the wedding.”
“It could be worse,” David told Bubba philosophically.
“How?”
“It could be raining fish.”