Wrestling Crabs

Smelling wafts of a fishy smell coupled with crustacean shells has left me feeling a bit crabby. I’m not mad, mind you, but I am noticing a hole in my knowledge base; why all the dead crabs on the Northwest beaches?

Scratch that. Google straightened me out; not dead, molted. Dungeness crabs shed their shell six times in the first year of their life. And since July is the peak season for females (August/September for males), that’s why I saw a concert arena full of those shapeshifters.

Other than that, my mind’s still. It’s like when you realize a toddler’s far too quiet, it’s making me suspicious.

Am I in the best state of mind I’ve ever been in, on the verge of a meltdown, or about to do an Ultimate Warrior running clothesline and power slam somebody?

This leads me to something not many people know; I was once obsessed with WWF wrestling. Jake the Snake Roberts, Hacksaw Jim Dugan, The Undertaker, Rowdy Roddy Python, Hulk Hogan, and The Hart Brothers, to name a few.

My parents used to urge me at our local video store to rent something other than Wrestlemanias and Rumbles. However nothing compared to a flying slam from the corner pylon or a whack in the back with a metal folding chair.

I don’t mean to ruin this for us, but at a certain point, like Santa Clause and the Easter bunny, I learned it wasn’t real. Which means the magic and mayhem lost their sheen the day the levee went dry.

With that said, I’m feeling bittersweet. A tad lost. And a wee bit worried that the best days are behind me.

But man, did those guys ever put on a good show.

Love, Jaclynn

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