Like a big glob of phlegm?

Subtitled...Why Patty didn't eat oysters in Seattle.

Ok, so the ONE thing I said I was going to do when we came out was eat oysters.  After reading a great article in Bon Appetit, I thought, what the fuck?  You only live once.  Try a fucking oyster you wuss.  And the name of the place, The Walrus and the Carpenter, named after a poem by Lewis Carroll, was just too good to be true.

So, I did some pre trip analysis.  I posed the question...Oysters: friend or foe?  to a number of people.
MS at work, who is generally squeamish, said boldly, "friend!!" I got all the info on how to eat one and not look like a complete and total amateur dipshit.  A little Tabasco, a little lemon juice and slurp it down.  "Like a big glob of phlegm?" I said.  "Yeah...kind of," said he.

But I was not deterred, even when Chris got all weird and said, in his anxious new experience way, "I just don't think I'll like them."  Well for fuck's sake!  You get six.  If we each eat one and become ill, we just leave four and go hurl.

I then asked CB at work...her response to my question was...WHY??  She was clearly in the "foe" camp. But I was still not deterred.

Not until I was standing in the parking lot or Reuben's brews (as mentioned in the last post), contemplating how to vomit without making a scene, and whether or not to leave my raincoat hood up - should I leave it on and save my hair from the rain, but maybe get barf on it?  Should I put it down and ruin my hair for later pictures but stay clean?  - that I decided. 

When you tempt fate by almost barfing after a beet salad, the wrong answer is to go out and eat raw shellfish for the first time.

Alas, it was not meant to be.  But in four weeks, when we are in Portland, Maine, by god, I will eat oysters!!! 

And probably barf.