The One Where It's Too Hot to Come Up With A Title

And trust me, I know hot. (That's what she said...badumbumching)

I was ironing last night when I suddenly heard loud, jumbled noises from Shawn downstairs. He was hammering out his work schedule and watching baseball, so I didn't think anything of it until Ry came into my room a few minutes later, looking very much like the cat who ate the canary.

"What happened?" I asked.

"Well, I was just really worried that Emma's fish was going to get hungry in the middle of the night and start swimming around like this (makes frantic fish swimming motion and eye movements) and wake us up, and I know you don't like it when we wake you up at night, so I wanted to put some food in his bowl."

"We don't have fish food, Ry. What did you put in there?"

"Baby Powder."

(This is when Shawn starts yelling my name)

"Hang on, Ry -- you snuck out of bed to go downstairs to pretend-feed the fish that the neighbors entrusted to us to look after with baby powder?"

"Well I just didn't want him to be swimming all night like this (again with the frantic fish motions and eye movements)."

Sure enough, there was the delicate little betta swimming around under a milky-white film of powder. How she snuck past Shawn is a mystery, but I must say the girl is thorough.

FYI: fish is fine. Mommy pulled an all-nighter refilling the bowl and monitoring its condition.

By the way, we're thinking of starting up a pet-sitting biz. I think we'd be really good at it.