My goldfish won’t stop crying

My goldfish won’t stop crying and it’s rather disconcerting. Especially when I have guests round. Like the other night, Alexander, you know, the one from the bakery, tall guy, dark skin, he came round for a couple of drinks and I cooked him a chicken salad, no dressing or carbs, I want to keep that body trim as much as he does. Well, we’d finished dinner, he’d told me stories of 4am starts to make tiger bread and finally explained to me why a baker’s dozen is 13 instead of 12 and I tried to care and pretend I wasn’t looking at his bulge whilst deciding if I was going to have sex with him that night or keep him waiting for another week as planned. We sat on my sofa, I smiled at him and told him to kiss me, so he did his usual move, remember, the one I told you about, the one that Louise used to do too that would instantly ripple goosebumps down my skin, the one where he slides his left hand up my left thigh while cupping his right hand on my cheek, pushing up the grain of my stubble before firmly kissing my lips. As our tongues met and rolled over and under each other like wrestlers, I tasted garlic on Alex’s, sorry, Alexander’s breath, which was weird as I specifically didn’t put garlic in our salad as I thought he didn’t like it. That got me thinking of Louise, remember how I told you her bolognese would always have four garlic bulbs, not cloves, bulbs, no matter if she was cooking for two or 12 people, and it was at that point my goldfish starting crying and crying. Really loudly, too, like a human. Well obviously this quite clearly freaked Alexander out and he made some excuse about running a spinning class in the morning and that he should get an early night, little did he know that after tasting that garlic all he was going to be getting was an early night to be honest, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t disappointed that he left. I stared at my goldfish for hours as it wailed and screeched in pure agony. I was helpless. Seriously, what on Earth could I do? I couldn’t exactly leave it as it would only get worse so I had to call in sick from work, it’s not like I could tell the truth so I made up some excuse, but my boss was pretty nice about it, then I basically curled up on the sofa with a duvet, I thought I shouldn’t go too far, and I just looked at it and thought about what I should do. It’s been six days since my goldfish started crying, and I still don’t know what to do. It’s the day before I’ve always planned to have sex with Alexander, and the tears are still flowing from the little guy while his screams are getting so hoarse and severely depressing. Alexander text me earlier about tomorrow and whether I still want him to come round for the evening and the only real option I’ve got is to say no. Or kill my goldfish once and for all.

© Carl Burkitt 2013

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