You’ve got to be kidding me.

Before I announce the long-anticipated results of the First and Last Annual Name My Goldfish Competition of 2013, I would like to note that my kitchen is apparently not the steaming incubator of democratic spirit that I assumed it to be. I had approached my kids with this pet-nomer undertaking before floating it on the blog, and they agreed in principle, but the realpolitik proved thornier than anticipated; as we learned from the collapse of the Soviet Union, democracy is easier said than done. When they heard the results, they rebeled.

But a deal is a deal. A poll is a poll. A dumbass idea is a dumbass idea. And so, with no more ado, if any of this qualifies as ado, the winner of our thunderously important exercise is: “Sushi.”

For this my kids and I have no one to blame but ourselves, as the four of us selected it as a finalist despite the fact that it is, truly, vicious bordering on abusive: How is naming a pet after a foodstuff derived from its flesh any less cruel than not naming it at all? It’s like deciding to call a pony “horse meat.”

But the people have spoken. A tiny number of people with an especially morbid sense of humor, but all the same. They are people. And they have spoken. Now, whether this means we actually call the poor creature “sushi” is a matter only history, and my children, can decide.