I once bought a ceramic fish for our main bathroom. I loved that fish. It was highly glazed and a beautiful turquoise color. And you could put a candle in the body and see light through the holes as it sat on the counter. The fish itself? Kind of weird and a little ugly, if I’m being honest, but I loved it for its shiny aqua-marine sheen.

And then one day, tragedy struck.

I was cleaning the counter in the bathroom when I picked up the fish to wipe underneath it. That’s when the tail fell off. Just plinked onto the counter like it had been waiting for the perfect dramatic moment to say, “I’ve had enough swimming on this dry counter.”

Now, I’m not an expert in forensic ceramicology, but upon closer inspection, I noticed some… unusual repair work. The tail had been broken before, but someone had attempted to glue it back together with a substance that looked very suspiciously like Crest Minty Fresh Gel. Maximum hold? Apparently not.

Now, there are four people who live in my house, plus a dog and a cat. Assuming that my pets and myself were not guilty, that didn’t leave many suspects.

After ascertaining that my husband did not attempt to glue my fish back together, I interrogated my two children.

For days.

No one would confess.

Eventually, I gave up on their cooperation and turned to good, old-fashioned profiling.

This felt like something my older daughter would do. She was notorious for her creative explanations when it came to getting out of trouble. She had been known to push or hit her sister, look me straight in the eye, and deny touching her.

“Look, I know you broke the fish,” I started. “What I want to know is why you didn’t tell me.”

Tears.

Sobs.

Then this: “I didn’t remember breaking it.”

Me: “Oh. Well, do you remember putting it back together with toothpaste?”

Her: “No….”

More tears.

“Here’s a question,” I continued. “What made you think toothpaste would work to hold it back together?”

“Oh, well, I just noticed that toothpaste is sticky and dries solid, so I thought it would work.” Not sure if she realized that sentence gave her away.

A few months later, I accidentally broke a jar of sea glass that was in the bathroom. I gathered my children and asked them, “Anyone want to explain what happened here?”

Panic. Wide eyes. They were both sweating bullets. No one trusted anyone. The toothpaste-fish trauma was still fresh.

I couldn’t keep it going for long, though. I laughed and told them the truth in under a minute.

Relief. Possibly a little disappointment that they weren’t about to witness a dramatic sibling takedown.

The sea glass is long gone, and I have no intention of replacing anything breakable ever again. As for my beloved ceramic fish, it now lives safely on my dresser, properly repaired with actual glue. Industrial strength. No minty freshness.

As for the lying, we have all learned to be a little more upfront with each other. Except, perhaps, one of us. When I recently reminded my girls of this incident, the guilty one stood by her story: “I really didn’t remember breaking it!”

M-hm.