Lobster

It's a well known fact that I dislike lobster. I've been known to have some when it's not in it's natural state (in the shell and staring at me all creepy like), usually in ravioli (because anything involving pasta is good in my book), but it's generally a food I like to stay away from. This could be due to a bad experience when I was 8 watching one leap out of pot of boiling water my mom had just placed it in, but that's an entirely different post altogether. And don't even get me started on that green stuff.

When it came time to send a dear friend in London a birthday gift, I joked that I would send him something Maine-related, potentially some live lobster. This led to discussions of what would happen trying to get live lobster through customs, and what would happen if he set them free in the Thames river (I would be responsible for an out of control lobster population in the city of London). In the end, I sent him a giant red, plastic lobster, which is currently sitting on his desk in his office on the opposite side of the Atlantic. Probably staring at him creepily like it would if it was on his dinner plate.

Myth or fact: lobsters mate for life. Let me tell you, I was a little disappointed to learn that this is, in fact, a myth. This means that Ross and Rachel can't be each other's lobsters, which brings me to a whole new level of disappointment. I always liked the phrase "he's your lobster!" because it de-romanticizes the idea of finding your soulmate, without taking away the meaning. Now I guess I just have to settle for finding my penguin.