This weekend I'll be in Boston for the Morrow Family Lobsterfest where I'll crack open the shell of a being I just recently observed living while trying not to make the icky face that Chris says I always make. At this point, I think the New Englanders will no longer be surprised at my unfamiliarity with the varied shell cracking implements and procedures and also at this point I'll no longer ponder why lobster guts are referred to as "tamale" and I'll be at peace with the fact that this "tamale" is saved to be used in a Christmastime dish of some sort. The Livingston's have their JellO salad (JellO mixed with cottage cheese, mayonnaise in the center, served on a bed of lettuce), so who I am to judge?
Who am I? I'm the asshole making icky face embarrassing her dear husband. The same dear husband who did not make icky face when he was forced to eat the Livingston JellO salad nor did he make fun of his icky face making wife as she barfed up that very same Livingston JellO salad on the plane ride home later that evening.
We went out to dinner this evening and the restaurant that usually gives out little plastic cars, today gave Gideon a plastic lobster. Signs from God are all around us, if only we're open to them.
This weekend you may call me Lobster Mama.*
*Last year I tried to get into the spirit of Lobsterfest by dressing Gideon in lobster attire. It just so happened that Gymboree had a lobster-themed line around that time, so I dressed him in a lobster belt and shirt and later when we went to the beach, a lobster swimsuit. I might just be sensitive, but I think I might have creeped everyone out.