“Dang it, the ‘stache stays, Sherry! In the words of ’70s rock gods ELO … It’s a livin’ thing; It’s a terrible thing to lose; It’s a given thing; What a terrible thing to lose.” (Photos by Ema Smith)
“Was I not clear on this, sir? I’m just sayin’, you give my friend here a free 7-Up and maybe you get to keep using all your fingers. Maybe.”
When she uses that strawberry shampoo.
There’s another side to the Coupeville Booster Club’s annual Crab Feed.
Sure, the event is the biggest fundraiser of the year, and sure, all that money helps drive Wolf athletics for another year.
Community members get to mingle, and all is good and well.
Unless you’re a crab!
Than it’s The Night of a Thousand Butter Pats, an urban legend crab moms pass down to scare their unruly children at bed time.
At least I’d like to think so.
One second you’re the first crab in your whole family to go to college. The next you’re headed to the big hot tub in the sky. Life comes at you fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in awhile, you could miss it.
That moment when you realize the crabs didn’t volunteer.
“Get in the pot, crabs! The Strawberry Slammer has spoken!!”
“Hey there, little crab buddies, I’ll sneak you out of this joint. You can hide in my pot of butter. Of course I brought my own butter pot … does it look like this is my first time at the rodeo, skippy?”
“Pinch, pinch, lil’ crabbies. You all float down here.”
“Goodnight, sweet crab princes, and flights of angels sing thee to thy butter-encrusted rest.”
