Another Day, another fish
I made the mistake of trying out my brand-new frog flippers or fish feet or whale tails or whatever you call them in the pool just now. They are blue and grey and full of struts and holes and look like something that a Martian would go and play snowballs in. They probably won a design contest judged by horses. Their chief advantage was that they were cheap, that is to say, about half the price of a black and gold pair that were on sale and looked like they escaped from a whale’s go-faster kit.
So I gave my foot propulsers (which is what their label says they are) a spin in the pool and stopped for a break at the Duck end of the pool. Duck sidled over and I thought he had come to chat and make nice.
Not a bit of it.
“Speeding, quack.
“Excess waves, quack.
“Indecently behavioring, observing a Duck’s feet from underwater, quack
“Collision with Duck, QUACK.
“Total fines, one hundred and thirty five fish plus seventeen and half fishheads tax, due lunchtime tomorrow, Quack or penalties will increase ten percent per swim, Quack.
“Don’t be late, Quack.
”In future watch out what you do with your tailfin. Quack.
“You look like a fish with tail rot. You should see a doctor before it spreads to your other fins, Quack.
I think it already got your brains. Quack.”
Disdainfully wiggling his tail feathers at me, he swam off to deal with other dangerous swimmers.
Chastened, I swam back, slowly and carefully, one rotten tail beat at a time concentrating on my Duckdar detector to ensure I was not in Duck’s sights again.
Can’t even swim in peace.
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