Like early this morning when we were boisterously celebrating the first few minutes of 2011.
Someone says: "I have a $50 lobster!" and appears minutes later with a singular gigantic lobster (as big as a new baby but way uglier). Alive. And wiggly. And playful! We tried to race the lobster, but lobsters don't really race. We let the lobster pinch our finger tips with his tasty baby claws. We tickled him and named him and held him up high and upside down. At some point a half-serious person intervened and said something about danger and being careful. He should be in water someone said with conviction. You know, like the tank at the store or a bucket off a fishing boat. Seemed to make a lot of sense.
We put him in the bathtub.
Ten minutes later, Mr. lobster looked like fucking hell. I think I even saw some lobster vomit floating in the water. He was Limp. We shook him and yelled in his face "Hey, Hey!" We were hoping for unconscious. Was he on the brink of death? How do you tell with a crustacean anyway. Was it too late? Did you see his tentacle thing move? Did he blink? Was he just pretending? Did anyone know lobster CPR? Adrenaline to the heart?
Can we still eat him?
I tried to be The Hero: I told him to stay away from the light and poked him aggressively for a long while. Wondering if he just needed to shake it off. or something. By that time I was bonded to the little pinchy guy. Genuinely concerned for his well being. Hoping he'd make it (at least for another six hours until lunch).
Apparently if it moves, I risk falling in love with it.
But it was too late. He was dead. We'd killed him. I'd killed him. Or her. By accident. What a fucking travesty.
It was absurd. Me. Bathtub. Lobster. Love.
And the moral of my 2011 opening story?
Love is like a lobster, looks all strong and unshakable on the outside, but is tender and delicate on the inside and needs someone paying attention to the details. Or it fucking dies.
And you go hungry.
So pack a snack.
__________________
what will happen next?
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