"Just a minute, I want to get some shrimp," I told my restless brood yesterday afternoon as they gawked in horror at the glassy eyes of the flounder staring up at the ceiling from its final resting place--a bucket of dirty ice.
"Gross, Mom." My seven-year-old held his nose as we walked by the carp in all their rigor mortis glory.
"Just a minute, we need rice noodles," I said.
We headed down the daunting noodle aisle with its thousands of colorful packages, each stamped with Asian characters we can't read. I go for the package that looks familiar. The fishy smell isn't much better near the front of the store. The whole place smells like low tide.
"But I don't want shrimp for dinner," my youngest complained. He didn't relax the pincher grip on his nose the entire time we were in the store. "Why do we have to come here?"
"This place has the best prices on fish," I explained, feigning patience.
"I think she comes here to torture us," my oldest opined.
"No, I just like to look at the fish." I smiled at the Chinese cashier who rang up our items.
"Then why don't we just visit an aquarium, Mom?"
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