The Fish is Finished

Years ago my in-laws took a trip to Italy with another couple. One night at dinner, their friend, Mr. G ordered the fish. After a few minutes, the waiter came out of the kitchen and told the man, “The fish is finished.”

“Great,” Mr. G said. “Bring it out.”

The waiter then proceeded to bring meals from the kitchen for my mother-in-law, then my father-in-law, and then Mrs. G. The three of them waited for Mr. G’s dinner before they dug in. And they waited. And they waited. The fish never appeared.

Finally, Mr. G, very frustrated, called the waiter over again to inquire after the fish.

“The fish is finished,” the waiter said, opening his palms and shrugging his shoulders.

And at that moment, it dawned on the Americans. The restaurant was out of fish.


I tell this story because today, our pet fish experiment has come to an end. The last of the three has perished. The fish is finished.

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