Courting The Crabtastic

On Tuesday night I went to the Bethesda Crab House with a friend. It had been the kind of day that necessitated the drinking of many beers and the cracking of many crabs. Apparently all of Maryland had the same kind of day I did and had decided to end it in the same fashion. When I saw the mob scene, I almost left, thinking the line of patrons in the outdoor seating area was waiting for tables. In actuality, the mob was made up of middle-aged lawyers who, in an act of unparalleled desperation, were hovering about a group 18-year old girls.

I was privy to an endless parade of designer mini-dresses as the long-haired ladies teetered to and from the restroom. Their shrill giggles were piercing. I will not lie to you, dear Internet. My bitterness towards these girls stemmed from exactly what you think it did. As I sat in my booth, my hands covered in Old Bay and crab carcass, I couldn’t ignore the pangs of jealousy. At 18, each girl was vibrant and colorful. Their eyes sparkled and their hair was shiny. I have no idea how they managed to eat crabs without getting butter on their silk-clad bosoms. What’s more, I couldn’t remember a time when I could get away with wearing anything silk, much less silk sans undergarments (as these young ladies were so obviously doing).

The wait staff attended to them with meticulous care. The middle-aged attorneys bought them pitcher after pitcher of beer and dozen after dozen of crabs. Hours went by and slowly the crowd began to thin as the weaker of the mob left, realizing their chances of scoring with any of those girls were nonexistent. The tougher, more confident males continued to circle the table, hoping for a glance from any of the big-eyed beauties. As closing time neared, confidence waned.

As a spectator, I was privileged to witness the decline in the girls’ appeal. The wait staff grew weary of their endless requests and began voicing their unease over the fate of their tips. Every time a would-be suitor cashed out, hat in hand, the waiters lost heart. Their unease grew to anger and, before I knew it, I was hearing words that the devil himself would have cringed over.

This made me giddy. I realized that I may not be able to wear silk and will always need to wear undergarments, but I have staying power, baby! My charm at the end of the evening was just as strong as it was at the beginning. The smile I got from my waiter was genuine from start to finish. I may not giggle like I once did and my hair may be unruly, but by God, I am still vibrant.

I’m still a wee bit jealous (because c’mon, don’t we all wish clothing-minus-undergarments was possible?) but I am so insanely glad that I’m not 18 anymore.

P.S. A note to the lawyers who were hitting on those girls: IT WILL NEVER HAPPEN. And also? GROSS. Seriously.