I had whelks for lunch today.
Those of you who've read this will know exactly what that means.
Today however, things were just a touch different. Because all the whelks went on strike.
I knew I was in trouble the minute I picked up the first one, and it not only didn't come out of the shell when I slurped on it, it made me drool because it was a bit -too- large to bite on comfortably, -and- required the skills of an elite vacuum cleaner just to keep up with the sucking action.
No wonder babies go to sleep after taking their bottle of milk. Oww. My -lips- are still sore.
By the time the fourth whelk had defeated all attempts to eat it, I was pretty convinced it was One Of Those Days. The discreet slurping sounds that usually accompany this enterprise had sort of long since materialized into a swampish gurgle that often accompanies quicksand victims trying to get out and failing. Either that or a truck stuck in an oozing, squelching shlrrrrrrrrrrrrrrp of mud.
If half the restaurant was looking at me by this time I didn't notice; I was busy looking the other way and studying the wall with great interest. You can perfect the Innocent Animaniacs look doing that, I assure you. It's great practice contriving to make it seem like those ghastly sewer noises are not emanting from your place despite you going through the -motions- of making them, but are really helium balloons under your chair being deflated. Method actors have -nothing- on me at this point, behbe.
This is one time I'm very thankful I'm nowhere near a resident franchise of Sketchclub. The spectacle of a short, wild-eyed woman attempting to contort her mouth into shapes only seahorses, blowfish, guppies and chimpanzees should be allowed to practice would just have been too much to resist for any self-respecting artist.
Oh what the heck who am I fooling. If I'd been looking at ME I'd have grabbed the sketchbook and started plugging away at it.
I had to commemorate the moment, even if I only had 5-10 minutes to do it. Behold the Whelk of Doom:
I managed to get out of there with my self-respect intact. I think. Despite having to resort to stabbing at the whelks with a fork to fish it out, and in the process, cracking the shell accidentally and taking a whole lot of unexpected calcium into my diet. Crunchy calcium, no less.
Man. My mouth will never be the same again.
(Believe me, I'm glad I'm no one famous because THAT line taken out of context would, like the ever famous Lucy, require a great deal of 'splainin' to do.)