R.I.P. Fish

Yes, Fish has died. He barely lived 24 hours before he joined that big fish bowl in the sky. We're thinking it might have been suicide by hunger strike, as Fish never showed any interest in eating his goldfish flakes that Henry so carefully dumped into the tank ("Just a pinch Henry! Just a pinch! Henry! No! A PINCH! Oops.") A case of PTSD? A history of depression? We'll never know. Mike, armed with $2 PetCo receipt, picked up a replacement fish a few hours later. Fish Jr. is much more active and happy than Fish was, so we're thinking he's a keeper.
Otherwise, Henry and I have both caught a bad cold so we're laying low today. Somehow I manage to catch every single cold Henry brings home but get it 10 times worse than he does. Last night as I was lying in bed not sleeping or breathing through my stuffed up nose, I was thinking about how nice it is when you are not pregnant to be able to take Nyquil. I was actually fantasizing about Nyquil last night. How sad is that?