Lobster Tale

I don’t workout much ~ at least not in the traditional sense of the word. This is evident in the clear outline of cookie and candy shapes that bulge from inside my tummy in plain view. There are reasons why I steer clear of gyms and volley ball courts, only one of which I will discuss today.

About a year or so ago, I woke up one morning and decided to follow in Ed’s footsteps and regain some semblance of shape to my waistline. To put things in perspective, Ed had dropped fifty pounds in the healthiest way possible. He started to drink a lot of water, ordered a stationary bike and treadmill for our home, and basically eliminated all food items from his diet. He has managed to keep this weight off for nearly two years now, having completely rearranged his lifestyle. I marvel at him ~ truly I do. Not just because he lost fifty pounds, but because he lost fifty pounds and has kept it off this long living with the likes of sweets-addicted me.

And so, on that fateful decision day, I popped open a bottled water (just cause it sounds healthier than the free, tap version) and instead of having pancakes doused in butter and syrup, I decided to get with the program by heading downstairs to the family room and attack the exercise equipment.

From years of dancing many moons ago, I knew enough to warm up first, stretch those lazy muscles and wake them up a bit before I began my workout. One of the cats had followed me downstairs and was already staring at me as if to say, “You have GOT to be kidding me … this oughta be good.” He parked himself in front of the bike and I swear, he let loose a chuckle. Still, I stretched and breathed and did all the right things to prepare my body for the inevitable assault.

I had carefully picked out some classic rock music, strapped on my headphones, steadied myself and took one last easy breath before boarding the bicycle. I was ready, baby!

I was mentally singing along with Clapton and wishing so much I could show off my cool air-guitar licks, but I somehow managed to keep my hands in place on the bike. Ten minutes into my little program and I was still able to breathe. I was completely impressed with myself and feeling quite fine.

Then I noticed the cat.

He was up and staring at something just behind me on the floor and in his full attack mode. His eyes looked almost glazed over as he positioned himself in the “down-low” that he does so well … I hesitated to look behind me, but I knew I must.

Right smack in the middle of “Three O’Clock Blues” I slowly turned my head and looked downward toward the floor fully expecting an ant or maybe a moth. Instead … this is what I saw …

Now, call me crazy but this “thing” does NOT belong in my house… not on a Monday, a Tuesday or EVER.

My reaction? I did the mature thing and shrieked at the top of my lungs, “OH … MY … SWEET … GOD! ED…. HELP ME!”

In one fell swoop, I was off the bike and at the stairs clear across the room without ever touching my feet to the floor. My heart raced like a worked hemi and I was covered in sweat.

The poor man ran to my aid from two flights up and was yelling “What happened, what happened?” I caught my breath and shouted again, “IT’S A LOBSTER AND IT'S COMING AFTER ME!”

The look on Ed's face as he rounded the corner was priceless … “A What?”

Remember, if you will, I’m a city woman. I hadn’t seen a crayfish, especially such an intrusive one, in my entire life. Not up close and alive! Even Ed admitted this was a pretty good sized crayfish. The thing had to be about six inches long, claw to tail.

What pissed me off the most was that it just had no right being in my house. None. He belonged out back in the pond with the other nasty looking fresh-water buggers.

With Ed downstairs now looking for something to scoop it up with, I felt safe enough to get a closer look at this monstrosity. Clinging to his bicep for dear life, I said to Ed, “You’re going to kill it right?”

Ed, being an environmentally conscious individual, just gave me the eyes-up-to-God look that I’ve come to know so well. He proceeded to carefully lift it onto a piece of cardboard and place it gently into the grass out back. We surmised from the balls of lint on its head and claws that it came in through a small hole near our dryer vent in the laundry room, and it must have been living (and growing) there for quite some time. Oh joy.

The only good that came out of this was that I had found yet another excuse not to workout. You just never know what’s going to crawl up behind you. If not for the silly cat, I could have been attacked and killed. (not “killed” as in the crayfish bit my head off or anything, just “killed” as in … had he gotten any closer to me I might have stroked out)

I suppose I probably burned more calories flying across the room in my little adrenaline rush than I would have, had I pedaled all the way through the entire CD.

Nah… I don’t workout much these days ~ at least not in the traditional sense. Instead I do many little power burns in the name of panic and horror. (Then I stroll off and eat a cookie)