Sounds fishy to me
I just read sort of a cute little book, sophisticated and New Yorkish-type. Some of it is on how to fish and hunt for a husband. "The Girl's Guide to Hunting and Fishing," by Melissa Bank.
Speaking of fish, I'm on my fourth beta fish. They are so fragile that the least little thing can do them in. When I lose one I decide not to get another, then my family thinks I need a pet so they get me another one. Mine have been a beautiful shade of blue and so graceful. I love watching them.
A lady from the state of Washington who was visiting a Marion friend told me a cute fish story. I hope she won't mind me re-telling it. She said she left her 18-month-old boy in the house while she stepped out to get the mail. When she came back in he had something gold all around his mouth and on his face, with the family goldfish clutched in his little hand and nibbling on it.
The mother grabbed the fish and threw it back in its bowl. Although somewhat damaged, it survived. Maybe the little boy was trying to copy the college boys who a few years ago took up the fad of swallowing live fish. Or maybe he had a taste for sushi.
When I think of the tiny bowl fish in comparison with the big whales I've seen leaping and playing in the Pacific while riding a small plane from island to island, I am astounded! The water splashes almost to the bottom of the plane. This is the end of my fish story.
— NORMA HANNAFORD
