when i was a young dumpling child my grandfather had a house on the sound. during the summer he would invite my family up to the cabin and go sailing, crabbing and clam digging. well picture this with me. i am a little girl with short tangled black hair and bangs and i am digging a hole, not particularly after clams but just a hole that keeps filling up with opaque sandy water when i see something surface briefly and sink back down into the hole. excited that i have found something i plunge my hand into the hole and bring up a fistful of mud and water. the muddy water sifts through my fingers revealing a pregnant shrimp, at the sight of which i am so repulsed and terrified that i tremble a bit before tossing the shrimp upward in my outstretched hand exclaiming Ah AH AAAHHH! it falls back into the hole and i run into the sound to wash the memory off my hands. since that moment i have never ever eaten a shrimp. and i will never eat or touch one for as long as i live.
that summer was the summer ending my curiosity for seafood. maybe next time i'll tell you about crabs and clam chowder.
that summer was the summer ending my curiosity for seafood. maybe next time i'll tell you about crabs and clam chowder.
this picture is my ine (little sister) on the same day the story takes place. the shrimp pictured is not the shrimp from the story. this shrimp is ine's friend.
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