wildlife

One of the things I like most about going to Florida is that it is an entirely different, almost exotic, ecosystem, with abundant wildlife, salt water, and conservative old people.

We saw manatees, egrets, ibis, stingrays, and crabs.

My one son, who has always been the catcher of things that crawl, slither, or swim, chased after quite a few crabs in our time down there, wanting to take one home to his friend, A, who, many years ago, brought him a clam in a yogurt container from the Rio in New Mexico that got left under the bed and rotted.

Paybacks are a bitch.

So, needless to say, the word “crabs” was uttered continuously whilst on the beach or in the river or at the dinner table.

Unfortunately, when I hear the word “crabs” I immediately go to the gross little ones that swarm a person’s pubis.

Now, the reason that I think that is because, super unfortunately, I once housed what felt like hundreds of them in my nether regions.

It was years ago, and yet, I am still a bit hesitant to let the world know that my cootch once  crawled with pubic lice.

But I have to say something now because it’s all I can think about.

Now, let me tell you the story of said STD.

I was dating the hottest guy in town (different town, we have too many guys who think they are the hottest to determine who’s actually the hottest.)

That was a joke.

I was wildly in love, in a “I drink a lot of tequilla and have sex with that guy sort of way.”

And then one day I scratched an itch and then had to scratch it again.

And again and again and again.

Finally, I looked and saw the surface literally squiggling with the little suckers.

Totally freaked out. If I had to have an STD, then I would have opted for a virus or some gross strain of green bacteria rather than having living creatures intimate with my lady parts.

So, I did the responsible thing and called my boyfriend.

“I have crabs.”

“Where’d you get them? Who else are you sleeping with?”

“Just you. Can you get them from a public toilet seat?”

“I don’t believe you…you cheater. It’s over.”

So there I was, scratching, sniffling, solo.

And then, I find out that a gal I worked with was also sleeping with him but she wasn’t the crab girl, it was a third girl.

He was cheating on both of us.

Crabby ass fucker.

I got rid of the crabs. Got rid of the guy.

And now, when I’m at the ocean and I see a crab run across the sand, I begin to itch.

 

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