>A few years ago, I bought a fresh lobster. Before I threw it in a pot of boiling water, which made me feel nervous and guilty, I did some research on the internet. I heard that lobsters scream while they are bring boiled to death, which made sense to me because I am pretty sure that I’d be yelling my fucking head off if the situation were reversed and I was thrown alive into a pot of boiling water by a human-eating band of lobsters. I hoped this was not going to happen. Screaming dying things ruin my appetite, and I paid $12 for my dinner.

My research indicated that lobsters had no nervous systems and thus felt no pain. As for the screaming, nothing was mentioned. Common sense would indicate, however, that of course, lobsters don’t scream, as lobsters don’t have vocal cords. Whew! I set the pot aboil, put the cooked lobster in the fridge, and the next night had myself a fine meal.

Husband, however, tried to torment me about my murderous ways. First, he insisted that he saw the lobster’s ghost haunting our refrigerator. Then, a letter from the lobster’s mother mysteriously arrived in our mailbox. “Henrietta the Lobster” heard through the seaweed vine that I ate her son, and she wanted me to know what he had been liked before he was snatched by a lobsternapper from the ocean floor and delivered into my killer’s hands. I noticed that despite a return address of “Under the Sea,” the handwriting looked suspiciously like Husband’s, although he denied knowing anything about it.

The next time I mention one of my zany plans or shenanigans I recently engaged in and you feel sorry for Husband, think about this story. We are a perfectly matched couple.

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