Baird and Sara got married five years ago today. Here’s my favorite story from their wedding.
We were eating lobster. I sat at a table that was about half lobster rookies. Growing up with frugal parents, I hadn’t eaten lobster very often, but I did grow up in Boston, so my family probably ate it about once a year. It was a Big Deal, and a Major Treat. We each, four of us, got our own lobster.
In any event, I had learned how to eat lobster. I had loads of fun teaching the newbies how to eat this truly strange quasi-insect of a food.
But that’s not my favorite part of the story. After I had eaten my lobster, I paid a visit to Sara, on whom I had developed a bit of a crush. I’m a sucker for a bride. Something about the glow, and the hormones, probably. Anyway, that’s embarrassing, and it’s not the good part of the story. I sat down next to her and made some small talk, asking her if she had enjoyed the lobster.
“Oh yeah,” she said. “This is my third.”
“What, you mean ever? Your third lobster ever?” I figured Sara for someone with vast lobster-eating experience. How could I have been wrong about this? I just couldn’t wrap my head around it.
“No, tonight. My third lobster tonight.”
My brain did a back flip. Wait, what? I had never considered the possibility that someone could, at a single sitting, consume more than one lobster. I mean, sure, John D. Rockefeller maybe, or Louis XIV, or some Roman reclining on a couch just back from a little session with a feather, but not a regular person. Not Sara.
She ate three lobsters.
My world would never be the same.
I went back to my table after a quick stop at the buffet, and I didn’t look up until number two was gone.