I found out after his brutal murder that you shouldn't name things that you are going to kill. I was so naive when I set-out with the brilliant idea to bring a lobster to class. I thought it would be a great way of driving the lesson home, and it was. I just didn't realize the killing part would be so...awful. I came home Saturday from teaching the children, and placed Sam (the lobster) in the fridge. I guess I was hoping that eventually he would die and I could just throw him out. But Monday morning Mama insisted that we cook him, as she pulled out the giant pan of water. It was then I knew Sam had to go, and I couldn't avoid it any longer.
I pulled him out of the fridge where he was still trying to feebly escape from the plastic bag. I told him I was sorry, but it was time for him to go. He looked at me with his big black eyes, and I think I saw a tear escape. I told him it was his destiny.
Then the pot took forever to boil, and I started to worry about the emotional trauma I was causing Sam as he waited, knowing the end was near. Finally we were ready, and Mama grabbed him and put him in the boiling pot of water. We were a little worried that we would have a Julie & Julia moment, so I stacked the heavy kettle on top of the pot in hopes of keeping him from escaping. We sang to him as he slowly died.
18 minutes later, a now bright orange Sam bobbed along the top of the pan. I must admit, I was a little worried he would suddenly come back to life. He did not. We hacked him to pieces, pulled out all the meat we could get...and ate him.
Moral of the story: I am not cut out to be a serial killer.
No comments:
Post a Comment