When I was a teenager, I had a goldfish named Britney Spears.

Now, her namesake was pre… When I was a teenager, I had a goldfish named Britney Spears.

Now, her namesake was pre K-Fed, before Britney became white trash, before she shaved her head and before she actually ate. However, I believe that the saga of the two Britneys closely parallel one another.

The reason my beloved goldfish received her name was because she wouldn’t eat those tasty fish food flakes I would drop into her bowl. Well, that along with her outstanding dance moves and limited vocal range.

Despite her lack of physical nourishment, my unending love caused her to thrive longer than any other fish I’ve ever owned. This may not be saying a lot, considering the only other time of my life that I’ve owned fish was during college, and because of a negligent roommate – ahem, cold-blooded killer – Fishmaster Flex perished just days after he came into my tender, loving care.

So, one day I came home from school and noticed Britney Spears swimming in her bowl on an end table in my living room. I only paid attention enough to realize it wasn’t her usual spot, and so I didn’t give it much thought as I breezed into the kitchen to make a snack. When I came back into the living room, sandwich in tow, I decided to perch next to Britney and tell her about my day.

This was when I realized that Britney was dirty. Not her bowl, but literally her little gold body had bits of dirt clinging to it. The bowl itself was sparkling clean, and I couldn’t figure out how she had gotten so dirty – until I spotted my Dad in the hallway, who recounted the following unbelievable tale.

Upon noticing that Britney Spears’ bowl was getting a little scummy, my Dad decided to clean it for me while I was at school. Now, this is a man who claims to dislike animals, but I can’t tell you how many times I caught him talking to my cat or dog in the kitchen.

So he carried the fishbowl into the bathroom, which is located on the second floor of the house. Now, this is where I typically would scoop Britney out with a little cup and gently set her aside while I would clean the bowl. My Dad, however, insisted on scooping her out with his hands. This is where things went awry.

He managed to scoop her out, but before he could make it to her temporary water world, she flipped out of his hands and onto the counter. He quickly went after her, but wasn’t fast enough. She flipped off of the counter and onto the floor. As my Dad frantically pursued her, he witnessed his worst nightmare coming true.

Vents that blow forced, warm air from the furnace in the basement heat our house. One of these such vents is located on our bathroom floor, and my Dad watched in horror as Britney flipped on top of the vent, and finally slipped through the cracks and plummeted down, down, down to the basement below.

He was partly in luck because it was still warm out and we weren’t yet using the heat. But could a Wal-Mart-purchased goldfish survive a two-story fall into a metal furnace?

Dad started to run down the stairs, making it down the first flight before realizing he needed the fishbowl to place her most-likely-lifeless body in. He ran back up the stairs and grabbed it, then ran back down the two flights to the basement. He flung open the furnace to find Britney, unmoving, lying on the cold metal. He picked her up and put her back into the water, where she slowly drifted to the bottom.

Miraculously, moments later she began to swim about her bowl as though nothing had happened. Granted, she was dirty and severely traumatized, and contrary to popular belief and according to the Mythbusters, goldfish don’t have a memory span of three seconds, but rather one of about three months. This little lady knew what she had been through and lived to swim around while I told it.

Thus, I properly renamed her Britney Spears Survivor. No – I wasn’t heavily influenced by pop stars as a teenager.

Is this a metaphor for the real pop star Britney Spears’ rise and fall or what? I mean, she began as a millionaire, idolized teenaged pop star who could do no wrong, strutting her stuff in a Catholic school girl outfit. Then Kevin Federline comes along, putting his dirty hands all over her, completely pulling her out of the safe world she had previously known and exposing her to the raw cruelty of the world.

At first, the newfound freedom was wonderful, until she hit rock bottom and split from K-Fed. I truly believe the recent head-shaving incident, tattoo spree and alleged brief rehab stint is her attempt at finding her way back into the fishbowl. It’s truly a beautiful thing.

I just hope Britney’s story ends better than my fish’s. I bought another fish to keep Britney Spears Survivor company about a month later. I named him Guadalupe. Lupe ate Britney Spears Survivor about a week after he moved in.

Best of luck, Britney.