When I was in third grade, I got sent home from school for wearing a kick-ass souvenir t-shirt that had those words on it. While I played dumb with the school principal about the shirt’s meaning, I knew it was scandalous and had innuendo regarding parasitically induced discomfort in one’s private Idaho. I loved that shirt, and all the schoolyard, Sesame street cred that came with it.
The crabs that got me in trouble today came in the form of Campbell’s Select Harvest Maryland-Style Crab soup. Made with real crab juice. The verdict: I would have been happier with the itchy variety. This dreadful, decapodian gruel has left a foul taste in my mouth that neither Kentucky bourbon nor Tennessee whiskey has been able to mask.
Full Disclosure: When I was standing in the soup aisle with Meghan H. (the H. is for Hostile) at the beginning of this journey, I reached for this can as a joke. It then became a dare. Today it became a reality. A harsh, pungent reality.
Challenge to self: Finish the week without making juvenile reference to human anatomy. Unless completely necessary.
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