A Cautionary Tale Nobody Will Learn From
It started innocently enough.
“I’ll just have one lobster roll.”
That’s what everyone says.
It’s the seafood equivalent of, “I’ll only watch one episode.”
The next thing you know, it’s Thursday, you’re ranking mayonnaise-to-butter ratios like a wine sommelier, and you’ve developed strong opinions about split-top buns.
Day One: The Tourist
Your first lobster roll is magical.
Fresh lobster.
A perfectly toasted roll.
Just enough butter to make your cardiologist sigh from three states away.
You post a photo.
You use the hashtag #LivingMyBestLife.
You call your friends just to describe how sweet the lobster tastes.
You’re adorable.
Day Two: The Research Phase
“It’s not gluttony,” you tell yourself.
“It’s journalism.”
Suddenly you’re comparing every lobster roll on Martha’s Vineyard.
One has bigger chunks.
One uses more butter.
One has celery.
One commits the unforgivable crime of adding too much lettuce.
You begin taking notes.
You’ve become the Roger Ebert of crustaceans.
Day Three: The Obsession
You wake up wondering if you judged yesterday’s lobster roll too harshly.
Perhaps it deserved another visit.
For accuracy.
Science demands it.
You tell yourself you’re supporting local businesses.
You heroically sacrifice your arteries for the island economy.
Conversations Become Difficult
Friends ask how your vacation is going.
Instead of answering, you launch into a passionate discussion about whether the roll should be warm with melted butter or chilled with mayonnaise.
Someone politely changes the subject.
You change it back.
Physical Changes
Your blood type is now clarified butter.
You smell faintly of the Atlantic.
Seagulls have started following you from parking lot to parking lot.
One of them knows your first name.
Financial Reality
At some point you stop checking prices.
You simply hand over your credit card with the calm acceptance of someone paying college tuition.
Every lobster roll feels expensive.
Every lobster roll also feels necessary.
This is how they get you.
The Hallucination Phase
Around lobster roll number nine, strange things begin happening.
You swear one lobster winked at you.
You catch yourself evaluating strangers based on whether they’d appreciate a good brioche bun.
You briefly wonder if breakfast lobster rolls should exist.
They shouldn’t.
Probably.
Denial
“I could stop anytime.”
You say this while looking up restaurant hours.
You insist you’re just comparing quality.
Meanwhile your phone contains forty-three nearly identical photos of lobster rolls taken from slightly different angles.
The Return Home
Back on the mainland, you attempt to recreate the experience.
You buy frozen lobster.
The rolls are wrong.
The butter is wrong.
The ocean breeze is missing.
You stand in your kitchen staring out the window while a lawn sprinkler provides the closest thing you have to Nantucket Sound.
It’s not the same.
It will never be the same.
Acceptance
Eventually you make peace with what happened.
Yes, you ate an irresponsible number of lobster rolls.
Yes, your vacation budget now resembles the GDP of a small island nation.
Yes, you may have single-handedly funded someone’s new boat.
Would you do it again?
Without hesitation.
Because here’s the truth:
Nobody has ever returned from Martha’s Vineyard saying,
“I really wish I’d eaten fewer lobster rolls.”
The memories fade.
The tan disappears.
The ferry ticket gets lost.
But somewhere deep inside, your heart—and possibly your cholesterol—will always remember that perfect lobster roll enjoyed on a warm summer afternoon, with salty air, a cold drink, and absolutely no regrets.
Well…
Almost no regrets.