The Anniversary Sandwich -- a Lobster Roll...and re-Roll

It’s our forty-third wedding anniversary and, recognizing our sandwich obligations, we elected not to even try to go out for dinner this evening…our daughter, J, would be sooo lonely if we did.  It has been a hell of a week—the refrigerator died and was resuscitated temporarily, J’s sprained ankle is continuing to cause suffering, work was not wonderful, there is a hurricane on the way for the weekend…need I say more?  I can—I believe the other side of our sandwich has forgotten the day all together--not a problem, but another small passage as he moves toward 101 years old.

We offered to go out to a suitable “family” restaurant, but J was intent on having us enjoy a lobster dinner together, and wanted us to bring that in…  Since we all enjoy that, it seemed a small price to pay for harmony and, after getting home from work this evening we set out to the supermarket to obtain the requisite dinner.  Three lobsters, steamed in ShopRite, potato chips at the ready—we returned home all ready to go and found that she had gathered all the implements.  A bone bowl, a “keeper” bowl, little dishes for butter, “fish plates,” and all those cracking, picking, cutting implements you need to subdue a hot lobster.  With  butter melted and potato chips in another bowl, paper towel placemats in place, and the fish plates and implements dealt around the kitchen table, we were ready!  A delicious feast ensued—munch and crunch.  Lovely Pinot Grigio and Coca-Cola for the daughter.  Yum.  As we ate, the Ladies (our two cats, 13 years old, grudgingly well-behaved) sat on the counter, more-or-less over our shoulders, keeping an eye on the proceedings.  Imogen, the black cat, “Yow”-ed over and over, while Eugenia, the brown tabby, sat and watched.   While she is endlessly talky when she is by herself, she likes letting Imogen be her “spokes-cat” when they are together.

Soon all was gone, except the juices, tomalley, and two bodies (husband and daughter do not deign to pick out the body meat) that were saved to augment the lobster bisque we thawed unexpectedly in the last couple of days and will eat for dinner tomorrow.  I gave a plate, finished by its human consumer, to the two cats.  They set to with gusto of their own, subsequently taking on a second and a third as their humans finished.  Great satisfaction!

J helped us clean up, load the dishwasher, dump the “bone bowl.”  My husband set about  cleaning up further, while I sat at the table collecting bits to be saved for that soup…  Suddenly, Eugenia jumped into one of the chairs with a little internal noise that quickly transformed from “quh, quh” to “hurk, hurk!”  As I watched in horrible fascination, she moved to the edge of the chair and relieved her internal stressors…dramatically.  Remember projectile vomiting? 

Her sister had no such trouble and has gone away to sleep it off.  My husband, bless him, cleaned it up without a word.  I am having another glass of wine, sitting mashed up in a chair with my sweet Eugenia, who seems to be fine.  She is purring, with no idea she is going to be slightly famous on the Internet for barfing.

Gotta get going—I promised them all Brownies for dessert!  

Forty-three years goes by in a flash!  Be warned!