The SysmTwins lobbied hard to get pets. Hermit crabs. They're six, soon to be seven. Quasi-semi-sorta-responsible. Last week, they finally broke me, and they got their crabs. Nickname selected a crab the size of a chicken egg. The Spaniard picked one the size of a robin's egg. "They'll have to go in two separate tanks," said the person at the pet store, "or the big one will kill the little one."

Great.

So. We have two tanks set up. And everyone -- anyone -- who comes within 100 feet of the house is dragged inside to see the crabs. Apparently, we're late to the crab-craze that has swept the neighborhood, because the kids are told - repeatedly - "you need to have more than one crab in the tank, they live longer that way."

I think this is straight up bullshit, spread by the Hermit Crab Wholesaler Alliance of North America. But, again, acquiesce. Last night we went to get two more fucking crabs. Again, we picked one small and one large. Once we got them home and put them in the correct tanks, it became clear that Nickname's new crab was trouble. A psycho killer. He kept going after the other one, trying to dig him out of his shell.

I did what I could to separate the crabs. I whispered words of encouragement to the first crab, "Claw his eyes out, motherfucker!" And left the room to let nature take it's awful, pincer-pulling course.

Nickname came over to me a little while later and said, "I think I'm going to change the name of my old crab to 'Claws'. And I'm going to name the new one 'the Devil'."

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