How Hard Could It Be?

Some people carefully research a project before they begin.

I am not one of those people.

My brain has a wonderful little habit. It gets an idea, convinces me it’s brilliant, and before common sense has a chance to weigh in, I’m already halfway to the store with my wallet in hand.

Today’s adventure began with a craving.

Not just any craving. I wanted fresh Cherry Stone clams on the half shell with a generous squeeze of lemon. I could practically taste the salty goodness. Into the Jeep I went and off to the market where I proudly purchased a dozen beautiful clams.

Look at me… practically a New England seafood expert.

Back home I dug through the kitchen drawer until I found the clamming knife that had apparently been waiting years for its moment in the spotlight.

There was just one tiny problem.

I had never shucked a clam in my entire life.

No matter. YouTube has raised half of America at this point, so I found a video, watched a guy casually pop open clam after clam like he was opening birthday cards, and figured I’d be right there with him.

I was not.

Those clams fought back like they had signed UFC fighting contract. Every single one was a wrestling match. I poked. I pried. I twisted. I questioned my life choices. Somewhere around clam number four I started talking to them. By clam number six I think they were winning.

Eventually I managed to shuck seven of the twelve.

By then I wasn’t hungry anymore.

Apparently wrestling shellfish for an hour is an excellent appetite suppressant. Hey maybe I’m on to something?

This isn’t the first time my enthusiasm has outrun my abilities, and I suspect it won’t be the last. My life seems to consist of jumping into the deep end first and asking questions somewhere around the middle of the pool. Sometimes it works out beautifully. Sometimes I end up with sore hands, a kitchen that looks like a seafood crime scene, and seven perfectly good clams that took every ounce of determination I possessed.

I don’t know why my brain works this way. It never says, “Maybe buy six already shucked clams.” No, it says, “Let’s become a shellfish expert by lunchtime.”

Still… I’d probably do it all over again.

Because every once in a while those crazy little ideas become great stories. And if nothing else, I can now officially add “amateur clam shucker” to a résumé that absolutely no one asked to see.