What a fish tale if I ever heard one. Some expert stated in a recent column that goldfish can live 15 to 20 years.

Murphy Brown had a bowl of goldfish on her desk, so we’re to assume they lasted longer than her television show?

You can’t believe everything you read these days. The last two goldfish I bought, Goldie and Hawn, didn’t survive 15-20 days before they rested in peace, floating upside down on the water’s surface.

But, I couldn’t rest in peace knowing how many other goldfish had died in my care over the years. In fact, the plea from our household was to give it up. Friends and family lamented the slaughter and accused me of killing more fish than a gill netter.

They did have a point. They remembered a small, hexagonal aquarium, which no one – except me – wanted, precariously perched on a stand in the loft; and they remembered a wrestling match of teenagers in said loft. The disaster toll: eight dead fish, one broken aquarium, one scarred china cabinet underneath loft, two punished siblings, 8,423,786 pieces of blue gravel in the crevices of pine floorboards.

Yet, I wasn’t deterred when asking the sales clerk about beta fish, also known as Siamese fighting fish. Some experts, or aquarists as the column noted, said betas “are about the only fish you can maintain in a bowl with some success.”

Hearty, that’s what the clerk called this one beta, a beautiful blue fish with a deeper blue flowing tail, which I naturally named Rhapsody.

Following the explicit directions, I rinsed the gravel and the bowl while leaving Rhapsody in her unopened fish bag. I lowered her into the bowl for 20 minutes before opening the baggie and introducing her to the perfect environment, well appointed, clean and pristine.

Within three days, Rhapsody quit swimming; she just hovered near the bottom, staring helplessly at me through the glass. I went back to the store and purchased a computer-analyzed color system freshwater pH kit. By now, I was questioning our well water. I bought her a gallon of Poland Spring.

In a few more days, the hearty beta was lying on the gravelly bottom. I read more instructions about “putting tonics into the water to help prevent stress on fish.” I poured tonic into the bowl and drank the gin.

Rhapsody died, leaving me grieved, rejected once again, and with 31 grams of Betta Bites – enough pellets to feed a fish 15 to 20 years.

Not long after, a friend left two goldfish on the front steps one night. But by the time I returned and discovered them, they were lifeless as well, bobbing in their watery sack.

Only when I brought them inside did I realize the hideously bloated goldfish were rubber, their big eyes resembling those of blowfish in Down East waters.

My vow was to never buy another fish and subject it to my utter kindness and nurturing; or to my efforts at CPR; or my special feedings; or my tender burials down the toilet.

But you can’t believe everything you read in a newspaper.