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Stop and see the fishes

This morning I swam with a fish that changed my opinion of purple.

I hate purple. Or hated. When I see purple I think of my bedroom during my eleventh year: a disgusting display of pre-teen pastels, unicorns, rainbows and a big life-sized poster of Bon Jovi. The Bon Jovi part was at least tasteful in a retro hip kind of way.

But purple. Yuck. Words like whimsical and magical flash by my brain when I see it--words I don't like. But this fish...this fish was like an electric technicolor kaleidoscope. No pastel rainbows about it. And it swam with me until I stopped, mid-stroke, just to look. Then it swam away. Done with me. Then other fun fishies surrounded me. One with pink lipstick. One with some sort of Chanel-looking makeover mistake that turned into a gorgeous shmear across its body.

Aloha to the fishies. I'm off on a red eye flight back home tonight. Mahalo.
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