When I was around 30 I was introduced to a friend-of-a-friend from work, a gal named Karen. We talked a bit, she was my age and seemed nice enough, so we made plans to get together that weekend. I lived in JP at the time and she in Lynn, so we met about halfway and spent part or the day at Nahant Beach. This, of course, is that part where people start talking about themselves -- lives and work and romance history -- and we did likewise.
She had, she told me, been in a relationship for several years and broke up with the guy because of his drinking. Okay, fine, that's not unheard-of. Then went on to tell me that she had "seriously cut down" on her own drinking, and limited herself to only six or seven screwdrivers a night instead of twelve. Okay, small alarm bells started to go off in my head but I ignored them. She also casually mentioned that she didn't sleep with a guy right away, but once she did she became completely obsessed with him. The alarm bells turned into howling air raid sirens, but I still tried to ignore them. After a bit more small talk we packed up and left the beach.
We decided to grab a bite to eat and noticed a small place in Charlestown offering a twin lobster special. We stopped there and ordered food, and while waiting she slammed down three screwdrivers. But no big deal, right? The food came and we dug in. Lobsters are weird things and only about a third of them is edible in my opinion, so I tore off the shell parts and ate what was left. Toward the end of our meal she pointed to the little side claws or legs or whatever they are and said, "You're not going to eat those? There's good meat in them!" and grabbed mine up. I'd never bothered with them thinking the little toothpick of lobster meat inside wasn't worth all the effort of picking them apart.
I pecked around at my plate a bit more, finished up the fries and corn, and then glanced over at her. She was sitting there working on the small legs alright, not picking them apart but just eating them shell and all. "Oh, these are the best part! " she told me. Crunch, crackle, crunch, gulp... I managed not to look as horrified as I felt, muttered my way through the rest of the meal and we left. I promised to call later, when I had a minute. That was 1988 and I still haven't found time to call.