scarred by shellfish

Every now and then something happens in my life that makes me itch to sit down and blog about it. Immediately. And most of the time I do just that. But sometimes it can be a little tricky, since I really do try to keep this a relatively vanilla blog. Oh, I know I cuss too much, and I talk about hot pinheaded men (who still haven't called), but even so I'd like to think it stays relatively family friendly around here. So this particular episode has been a real challenge, and it's been perplexing me all day. I'm ready to give it a shot, but I have to be very upfront about this. I have absolutely no idea how this is going to fly - and it could get ugly. I'm really in uncharted territory here.


This story starts (and ends) with shrimp. Any kind of shrimp - scampi, cocktail, tempura, grilled, whatever. As long as it's shrimp, we're good to go. Well, we're not good to go, but someone is, and for the sake of our story that's all that matters.


One of our Bunco Babes is a riot. Well, actually a lot of the Bunco Babes are riots, but in this particular shrimp story we're going to focus in on one. She's a little tiny thing, but she carries a big presence. (She also drops in here from time to time, so if my body is found drifting ashore after I post this you'll know where to look first). She's free spirited and a little wild and crazy - a dancing queen with long Stevie Nicks hair. This gal and her much older husband separated and divorced right before the FX and I started having trouble, but the critical difference (to my mind at least) was that the whole thing was her idea. To say we were all stunned is an understatement. Almost no one saw it coming, but she had been unhappy for a long time and one day she just said enough. In spite of the fact that I love her to pieces, I had some real issues with her when this all happened, because the same thing was going on in my life, but the things she was saying to me about her marriage were almost word for word what the FX was saying to me about ours. It all got worked out, but it was a little funky there for a bit.


But that was a year ago, and things are very different now. Me, you know about. Her? Well, her life is really, really good. She's happy, successful and has been blissfully involved with a new guy for a good many months now. They seem very happy together, and we're all happy for them. Now you're all caught up on the back story.


It's time to introduce the shrimp.


I honestly can't remember exactly how it came up, but at some point last night, apropos of absolutely nothing, she casually volunteered that as long as her new boy had shrimp on his plate there would never be the need for Viagra in his life. Or hers. She's known for dropping these little bombs, so we all took it in stride - at least to start with. However, she was hell bent on elaborating, and soon - very soon - she had everyone's attention. Seems that recently, after a shrimp dinner with her man, she had a night where she, uh, found Jesus. Loudly and rapturously. Ten times. In one night.


Ten. Times. In. One. Night. She swore up and down it was the absolute truth. We believed her. Maybe it was the Cheshire cat grin on her face as she declared that she was "making up for lost time" from a marriage that hadn't been doing it for her for a long time. Maybe it was the nitty gritty details we could have done without. Whatever it was, she certainly had center stage.


Someone needs to tell the Shrimp Advisory Board about this, because this is an ad campaign just waiting to happen. On a big scale. Imagine the marketing ploys that could be used. Of course, the pharmaceutical companies would have a cow, but it wouldn't matter. It's a depressed economy, to be sure, but some things are relatively recession proof. And if you can save ten bucks on one Viagra just by throwing some shrimp on the barbie...well, why not? Something tells me that if you're a guy you could even talk your woman into cooking the shrimp for you. I'm just sayin'...


The after effects of this little scene carried on into today. One of the Bunco Babes is on a mission to find a shrimp "substitute" that she can feed her husband within Jewish dietary guidelines. (I facebooked her husband and told him to pick up some shrimp on the way home from work anyway. I figured she might be willing to overlook that whole religious thing just this once. As a social experiment, of course).


This same gal started today off with an offer to buy me as much shrimp as I wanted. I replied that I'm minus a shrimp eater at the moment, but I appreciated the offer nevertheless. And surely it's a testament to my hormonally driven self at the moment, but I've had shrimp on the brain all day long.


And not a grill in sight.