Fishbowl [Sarah Mlynowski] on *FREE* shipping on qualifying offers. Allison, Jodine and Emma set their apartment on fire. No, they didn’t do it on. Fishbowl [Sarah Mlynowski] on *FREE* shipping on qualifying offers. Having roommates means living in a fishbowl: you are never alone. Smart . Buy a cheap copy of Fishbowl book by Sarah Mlynowski. Three women newly rooming together discover the meaning of living in a fishbowl after a small fire.

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What they do have now is one giant repair bill and no money. How could this possibly go wrong?

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Mljnowski Milkrun Sarah Mlynowski 3. Sarah’s books have been translated into twenty-one languages and optioned to Hollywood. She was born in Montreal but now lives and writes in New York City. Visit her at sarahm. I’m trying to mind my own business while I stir my instant coffee my brewer has gone back to Vancouver with its owner, rishbowl of my former roommates.

Fishbowl by Sarah Mlynowski – FictionDB

My other college roommate, most furniture, all forms of cutlery and the living-room TV have also deserted me for the rainy city of Vancouverbut this teeth-scratching eeeeeeeeeeeeep keeps interrupting me.

Please, please, please stop. Three minutes and ten seconds later: Time to detonate the smoke detector. I’ve lived in this apartment for over two years and in all that time, not once have the batteries run out. But isn’t that always the case? They had to wait for Rebecca and Melissa to move out before they decided to kick the bucket.

My ex-roommates are each at least half a foot taller than my five-foot frame I prefer to be called petite, not short, and none of that vertically challenged crap, thank you very much and could have reached it by standing on a stool without the aid of a phone book.

Both could have easily, without breaking a glow, popped out the offending batteries, making the eeeeeeeeeeeeep go away. The beeping offends my ears yet again, and I examine my right thumb for a piece of stray nail to chew on. A bad habit I picked up from my mom. Maybe this eeeeeeeeeeeeeping is a sign. A sign for me to get dressed, walk to the nearest Starbucks and order a cappuccino before going to work.

Maybe while I’m there I will meet someone capable of stopping this eeeeeeeeeeeeeping. Maybe I will make new friends. I need new friends. Now that my former roomies have left town, I have only one friend left in Toronto, Clint, but secretly, I’m a little in love with Clint, so I don’t think he counts. I’ve tried not to be in love with him, because he’s not in love with me. I realized this last year me loving him and him not loving me.


What is thank you? Thank you for making me a turkey sandwich, Allie, maybe. Worst-case scenario, obviously, but still applicable. But thank you for the “I love you”?

What does that mean? He started stammering all boylike that he had to go, he had an early class as if he ever went to classand I realized what a mistake, what a huge mistake I had just made, and I said, “As a friend, I mean.

I love you as a friend. You’re my best friend. It’s certainly possible that he believed me about me not loving him that way. And if he doesn’t think I’m in love with him, he probably doesn’t want to risk potential embarrassment and disappointment by admitting his true feelings for me. He’s probably afraid of making the first move, because of his fear of rejection. Not that he’s ever been afraid of being rejected by other girls. But I’m different from other girls. Clint says no one appreciates him the way I do.

So you see, I’m having a bit of a current living-in-Toronto friend drought. Obviously, I’ll have two built-in friends when my two new roomies arrive in a couple weeks, but who should I talk to until then? I wish I had a dog. I’ve always wanted a dog. A dog that will sleep on my pillow.

A dog that I can take for walks and tishbowl snacks and teach to roll over and walk on two legs and do other fun tricks, and maybe one day I can present him on David Letterman’s Stupid Pet Tricks. But shouldn’t I ask my new roomies if I want to get a dog?

In case they’re allergic? Is it the ethical thing to do? Could I hide the dog? It could sleep in my room. I have the biggest one.

But if I can call them to ask them this, that means I have someone to talk to. And if I have someone to talk to, then I really don’t need a dog, now do I?

Maybe by the time I get back from coffee and work the eeeeeeeeeeeeeping will have stopped. Sometimes you wish for something and it actually does happen. Like in fourth grade. I went to sleep crying because in the morning I had to take the Monday multiplication test and I was stuck on table nine. For five weeks, Mrs. Tupper who probably never used Bounce, because her skirt always stuck to the inside of her thighs had been making me stand up in front of the class and answer, “Allison, what is nine times two?

Anyway, for five weeks I went to bed crying because even though nine times ten and nine times eleven were no-brainers “Multiplication isn’t your foe, times it by ten and add an 0. Don’t let math give you trouble, times it by eleven and you’re seeing double! Anyway, I had been on the ninth table for five weeks now, and the test was in the morning.


I sarha that one maybe two more days of practice would really be helpful, and then poof, the next morning there was a flood. There’s never been a flood in my saarh of the city in its entire history.

How weird fishhbowl that? Needless to say, the schools were closed, since no one could get to them unless they had a boat or Jet Ski. And when I took the test on Tuesday I passed. I brush my teeth, throw on jean shorts, a tank top and sandals.

I grab my purse and head out the door. Well, not good as in fulfilling good. How can telemarketing be fulfilling? Although, I raise money for the Ontario University Alumni Fund so it’s actually telefundraising, which isn’t as immoral or annoying as telemarketing. And I did raise over five hundred bucks today, which is pretty good. I look up at the offender on the wall in the living room next to the kitchen’s entranceway.

Has the sour-milk-sipping noise come to an end? No sound except passing traffic. I leave the windows open because it is a breath-hampering, fluid-draining ninety-seven degrees outside.

And I can’t afford an air conditioner. I once had a fan, but like everything else that gave me joy, it is now in Vancouver. I told you it could happen. There’s a pharmacy next door to Starbucks. Why didn’t I think to buy batteries? Wouldn’t that have made more sense than to assume that the obviously dying batteries would self-heal while I was getting caffeinated?

I roll the computer chair from my bedroom into the living room and place it beneath the smoke detector. This is a bad plan. A very bad plan. Unfortunately, my other chairs, which are metal, sturdier, more appropriate for this situation and which used to be arranged around a glass kitchen table which had to be placed beside the kitchen instead of inside it due to space limitations are gone. With the glass table. I pump the computer chair as high as it can go. And now, the moment of suspense.

It’s just me, an eeeeeeeeeeeeeping smoke alarm, and a rolling computer chair in a couchless, coffeemaker-free apartment. Lift right arm to smoke detector. Lift left hand to mouth.

Insert pinky nail between lips. Superfluous nail piece is freely rolling around my tongue. And both hands are placed squarely on the smoke detector.