Dinner with history
So I’m flipping through my virtual Overdrive and notice the contest Delo is having for a prize that involves dinner with Edgar the crab guy.
“There better be a Taliban member in the bunk with an RPG aimed at the back of your head, although I know this is not the case. For the 10 millionth time, I cannot look. Eyes forward, driving, like always.”
“Look! Delo is having a contest that I must win. It’s dinner with Edgar the crab man!”
“Uh. OK. Edgar the crab man? That sounds gross and dangerous. Am I invited? Who is Edgar the crab man?”
“Um, only the most famous crab guy in the whole universe. He’s got a TV show about him and everything.”
“Are you talking about the show on Discovery? Ice Road Crabbers, or something like that.”
“Oh my gosh, seriously? We’ve watched it about a million times. It’s called, ‘Crab Guys Lose Fingers and Smash Themselves Up’.”
“I don’t think that’s the name of it. Too long and gory.”
“Sure it is. There’s a guy named Phil who has an iron lung and drives a boat called the Santa Maria and he had ancestors who brought the pilgrims over and fed them lots of crab.”“Did you eat those mushrooms you found in St. Louis? I told you to leave them alone.”
“I think Phil died. But I really really want to have dinner with Edgar so I can do an awesome story about it. I wonder if we’ll eat crab? I like crab. Would you enjoy a big ol’ crab dinner with the crab man?”
“I’m still trying to work the Phil thing out, babe. He really didn’t have ancestors who brought pilgrims over, did he? And you don’t ‘drive’ a boat. And just for future reference in your awesome story, a ship can carry a boat, but a boat can’t carry a ship.”“I’m going to order asparagus as a side dish. And I’ll be very careful not to mention his missing fingers, or make any jokes about being fingerless. No fingerless gloves. Can’t give him gloves for Christmas.”
“You’re not really paying attention to me, are you? He’s missing fingers? How does he crack his crab legs with missing fingers?”
This question puts us both into deep thought for several miles. George, thinking about how poor Edgar cracks his crab legs with missing fingers, and me, thinking about what would be appropriately decent to wear for dinner with a famous crab man. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a contest to win.