When I was a kid living in Maryland, my dad, who knew I loved to eat lobster, bought a live one from a guy who used to sell ‘em by the road on certain days. I took it out of its bag. It was cute and majestic all at the same time. The literal translation for lobster in Chinese is the “Dragon Prawn.” I never had a live lobster at home before.
I touched it.
That was it. I would keep this one, as a pet. Hello Lobby, welcome to your new home.
We had a huge bathroom with an accompanying huge Jacuzzi. It was seldom used.
I filled it with ice cold water and mixed in a bag of salt. The water was cold in Maine right? “Yuppers,” I told myself as I gently deposited Lobby in. Yay! I now had a pet lobster. I envisioned, like only a child could, that I would come home from school everyday and feed it before my daily dose of “Saved By The Bell.” Nevermind that I didn’t even know what lobsters ate.
It would be awesome.
I kept on watching it. Fascinated. But as the hours went by it became lethargic. Very soon it was not moving at all. Oh no!!! Lobby!!! We were going to be the bestest buddies in the world.
My brother came into the bathroom and took at glance into the jacuzzi / Lobby’s new home.
“Let’s eat it,” he said.
“Noooo…Lobby…” I pleaded, my face scrunching up in sadness.
“Bet he tastes good. I’ll go melt the butter,” he reasoned and volunteered.
“Fine,” I said a bit grudgingly.
Someone, I forget who, set Lobby into a pot of boiling water.
I gave one last sigh.
Then Lobby became alive again! Possessed by some otherworldly strength, it tried to claw its way out of the pot.
“Take it out!! Take it out!!!” I screamed!
Lobby was lifted out of the pot. He was mostly red now and had stopped moving as vigorously. He wasn’t going to make it. The microwave dinged. The butter was done.
I ate him and he was delicious.