My Meeting With The Crustacean

Over the weekend, I met up with a pivotal ex-boyfriend whom I will only refer to as…………..  The Crustacean.

Hard on the outside. Soft on the inside.

And tastes wonderful smothered in butter…well he used to anyway.

 The Crustacean’s crimes against the humanity of Lonna Cottrell: abducting my heart and sending it through a meat grinder. Not once, or twice, but three times, practically with written consent–over ten years ago. (Actually it’s been almost 11, but I don’t want to appear to be keeping count.)


Dali, Lobster Telephone 1936

Dali, Lobster Telephone 1936


He doesn’t fit this specific Species of Crustacean, but is just as surreal.

Ten years is a long time. Two cars and 267,003 miles. Approximately 6024.5 cans of Cafe’ Bustello. 2 presidential campaigns. 60 inches of hair. Surely I could handle sitting with him over a cappuccino without any side effects. But only if he paid.

A few concerns popped up within my head and the heads of others. The last time we met had ended in strenuous activity. The resulting therapy sessions, Prozac, Zoloft, and Effexor. The empty antihistamine, Tanqueray, and Kmart brand mouthwash bottles. The hours spent on my bedroom floor and the stomach contents encrusted onto my hair.

Before the scheduled time, a friend of mine had asked me, “Why would you do this?”

The intentions I gave were:

1. I need an ending for Slackers (my next memoir).

2. I want to see his face when I start taking notes.

3. I’m curious if this is part of a twelve step program?

4. I’m running out of writing material.

The night before, The Crustacean and I had a brief phone conversation, ~43 minutes. After speaking with him, I was sure that words spoken over a caffeinated beverage was the best possible thing for me. That our meeting would close a door. It was almost like I was talking to someone I’d never met before. He’s quit coffee, unthinkable, and alcohol at least temporarily. (What does he do?) He planned on having herbal tea. In the past, we used to inhale various delicacies together such as pepperoni and cheese strombolis, pizza, cheese steaks, and the heavenly Chipwich. Now, no more meat or dairy. He’s turned vegan. I asked myself, “Who is this guy?”

He had driven down from the top of the State.

I expected to feel nothing.

But, upon eyeing him up, wondered if it was 1998.

His face, still dimpled. His hair, thinner. The clothes, nicer.

He was not wearing the jeans he rightfully had called his everyday’s.

I kept looking at his arms thinking, “Those arms used to be mine.” Not really mine, but his. I could probably map out the pattern of moles on his thighs and the freckles on his shoulders–4119 calender days after last seeing them. The skin tag on his left upper arm…(left, I think)…was it still there?

Not once was there a desire to crack his pinchers.

Without delving into boring personal details (if I did, what would I talk about later??), forgiveness was granted. This arthropod was truly remorseful. Without his previous assoholic behavior, I would have never dated my daughter’s father, contracted an unplanned pregnancy, been abandoned, and given an unconditional gift; my now nine year old daughter; a reason for my existence.

Things have changed.

In 2009, The Crustacean‘s following his dream. I’m pursuing Andy Samberg.

Neither of us have dated anyone in quite some time, nor do we have any desire to do so.

Friends we will be. I’ll give it a shot. No shellfish allergy here.

We’re both tortured souls…and he’s at a safe distance away.

Back in the day, we were magic in my eyes.

Now I file magic with fairies, goblins, world peace, and Santa. I haven’t entirely given up on finding someone of the opposite sex to spend the rest of my days with. I just no longer NEED or actively hunt for such a person. If it doesn’t happen, I am complete by myself.

It’s all good.


2 thoughts on “My Meeting With The Crustacean

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