I was chatting with my pal Kacey (of KaceysKitchen and Where in the World is Kacey) about the end of the world when she brought Mr. Tilapia, a man keeping 1,000 Tilapia in his swimming pool in Phoenix so that he'll have food when a massive solar flare knocks civilization back to the Stone Age, to my attention. I had the same reaction I'm sure all of you just had. I fell in love.
Kacey feigned concern for (1) my emotional well-being seeing as how I didn't handle my last break-up, with a steak, like a champ and (2) my budget - so much fish food. But I know she was just jelly imagining my future as Mrs. Tilapia, co-founder of The Big Top Fish Circus. (Don't worry Kacey, you can totally be the clownfish wrangler when we make the Pomacentridae expansion. Or eat fish and live in a prison surrounded by zombies with my Mr. and me if the world really ends.)
Mr. Tilapia, my Honey Lamb, did not divulge his real name or address. Obviously he didn't want to be bombarded with proposals from all the single ladies. Here's hoping he'll Google himself and find his way to this post/me. Love transcends and junk, right?
P.S. Mr. T., my sunshine, I'm going to need you to move to Florida. Arizona is too dry. Bring prickly pear margaritas. I'll bring...it. Unless of course it's already been broughten.*
*My vocabulary sponsored by Bring It On 76: Who'da Thunk We'd Make This Many Movies About Cheerleaders Without the Aid of Wes Craven).