It was two nights before the wedding and the lobsters were in the pot. This guy was cooking our meals. Judging by the back pocket he either flipped them or forked them to death. With polka dotted oven mitt in hand, it’s hard to say. As the sun set over the ocean, wine flowed like a red tide, stories were getting taller, while laughter was getting louder. We passed more than the bread to sop up buttery plates. We all partied our way through the final nights of solitary. What once was you…or I…would become we and us in a matter of days, mere hours. Nerves hadn’t set in as long as the sound of the crashing surf was there to calm us.
He was the Las Vegas Lobster Cooking King. Straight out of the gambling desert. He stood guard over our bright red critters and growled his endless love for family. After the ceremony he chased after us with an oversized umbrella, shielding us from the hurricane’s rain. Us, as newlyweds who wouldn’t notice the cold for hours. He left his arid desert for the rain soaked eastern seaboard to celebrate love…and to cook lobsters.
I haven’t seen him since.
~*LunaSea*~ 