“Enjoy your meal” the waitress says placing a plate of lobster in front of me. Beside it on my plate is a strange knife and a nutcracker. I turn to the waitress. “So…um. How do you actually eat a lobster?” I fear ridicule. I fear pointing. I fear laughing. She looks down at my plate, not with pity, but with embarrassment. “Um. You. Er. You just…I think you…hmmm. Welllll…” She doesn’t know how to eat a lobster either. For a moment I wonder why she doesn’t know. She’s the waitress, surely she should know! But soon it makes sense to me. She’s the waitress, why would she know? To buy a lobster she would have to work for 4 hours straight. Nobody would trade 4 hours of their life for a lobster.
I was travelling last year with a friend when for some reason we both became obsessed with the phrase “how d’ya like them apples.” When our obsession began we were in Morocco, a country with a large French speaking population. We knew very little French, both being terrible at it in high school, but somehow we remembered the French for apple – pomme. Pretty soon we had transformed the saying into “how d’ya like them pommes.” The saying followed us through 5 countries, whenever we somehow managed to one up each other in an argument the saying would float from our mouths.
There’s an old sycamore tree where I live. It’s branches reach so high into the air that it seems to touch the clouds. In summer, shards of light creep through the tree to the ancient bark below.