When my ship comes in I shall buy myself a large bed, so large that I need not bother making it. I shall wake up in the mornings, laugh at the rumpled sheets and move over to the other side that is in a separate time zone by itself and go right back to sleep. Because, you know, my ship will have come in.
The sails of that ship of mine are but a twinkle in the shipwright's eye yet, but in our house we have a tankful of fishes that keep sailing the waves in our new aquarium. We graduated from our bowl of goldfishes to a proper tank with pump and light and oxygenator (at least, that's what I think it is) last October. I broke the goldfish bowl in rather spectacular fashion while we were shifting homes -- I smashed it on Ally's steering wheel and ended up with a goldfish gasping on Vicky's mercifully vacant driver's seat and water and pebbles everywhere. I can assure you that it was an accident. And of course it will not surprise anybody to hear that it was definitely Vicky's fault from beginning to end.
We picked pebbles out of the upholstery for months.
The new aquarium gave Vicky grand ideas. The next thing I knew, he'd got tricolour pebbles (really) and three new fishes to keep Pranav/Uttam company (one died some months before we moved but we weren't sure which given their markings had changed in the years since we'd named them and where was I? Oh yes, the fishes.) Two ridiculously extravagant black goldfishes and one ostentatious orange one. That was in early November.
Now we have only one black goldfish left from that lot, which is a bizarre feeling given that our first two goldfish survived our tender ministrations for over three years. But the tank looks very pretty. All three of us go sit by it now and then, staring at the fishes. It is very soothing.