I’d been managing an amaranthine moodiness that was pretty much kicking my ass, despite hours of alone time and long runs.
If you are lucky (as I often am), an exceptional friend will not only pick up on said moodiness, he will also understand that slaughtering and eating 30 raw oysters is your particular kind of catharsis. He will help you shuck the wiley little bastards, laugh when you stab yourself with the tac knife, the cheese knife, and finally with the paring knife. He will mix you perfectly oversized vespers. Thus, he will cause you to be fixed without even a minute of cry-talking over ice-cream which never works anyway ’cause you really suck at public displays of emotion which happens when your grandmother has a strict no sad-emotion-having-or-showing policy.
If you didn’t know, sadness is as inappropriate to feel in public as, well, anything else that you should be feeling in private. Oysters on the other hand are entirely approprate to have in public, even though doing so feels like food and your mouth are doing sex.
Up the ante and buy fresh horseradish and maybe even use it twice, to make yourself an unreal bloody caesar when you wake up hurting from too many vespers.
Have some oysters, don’t feel sad.
Brief oyster eating notes below.