I learned something about Peggy early in our relationship that probably should have come with a warning label.
The woman can eat crab.
Not a little crab. Not a reasonable serving of crab. I’m talking about the kind of crab consumption that could make an all-you-can-eat buffet reconsider its business model.
We were outside Phoenix, Arizona, at the McDowell Casino. I don’t remember why we were there, but I certainly remember dinner.
They had an all-you-can-eat buffet featuring king crab legs.
Now, I’ve always known Peggy was a small woman. Trim, fit, and certainly not someone you’d look at and think, There’s a person who could put a serious dent in the seafood industry.
Apparently, I had a lot to learn.
Peggy spotted the crab legs and loaded up her plate.
And when I say loaded, I mean loaded.
It was less a plate of food and more a construction project.
She brought her mountain of crab legs back to the table, sat down, and went to work.
The rest of us ate our dinners.
Peggy ate crab.
And ate crab.
And ate more crab.
Eventually, somebody noticed that something unusual was happening.
That enormous pile of crab legs was disappearing at an astonishing rate.
And Peggy wasn’t slowing down.
Now, remember, we hadn’t been together all that long. I was still getting to know this woman. Discovering her likes and dislikes, her habits, her personality, all those little things you learn about somebody as a relationship develops.
I had just discovered that Peggy apparently had a second stomach reserved exclusively for king crab.
By the time she’d finished that first mountain, the rest of us were fascinated.
So naturally, we encouraged her.
In fact, we started helping.
People at the table began making trips to the buffet to bring Peggy more crab legs.
We couldn’t let her plate get empty.
This had become a group project.
I’m not sure exactly when dinner turned into a spectator sport, but somewhere along the way, eating became secondary to watching Peggy.
There she sat, this tiny woman, happily cracking crab legs while the rest of us kept the supply lines open.
Another platter arrived.
And another.
And another.
Four or five enormous helpings, as I remember it.
At some point, I suspect we were getting more entertainment out of Peggy than anything the casino had to offer.
And Peggy?
She knew perfectly well what was going on.
She was having a wonderful time.
That’s one of the things I love about this story. Nobody was trying to prove anything. There was no contest, no prize, no reason to keep going except that Peggy was enjoying herself and the rest of us were having a ball watching her.
I can’t tell you how many pounds of crab she ate that evening. I wish I’d thought to count.
I also wish I knew what the people running the buffet thought when they saw our table repeatedly returning for more king crab.
All-you-can-eat sounds like a wonderful business idea until you meet Peggy.
We’ve been together a long time now, and I’ve learned a great many things about her.
But that evening still stands out.
Not because we won anything at the casino. I don’t even remember whether we gambled.
I remember a table full of people laughing, making repeated trips to the buffet, and watching in amazement as this little woman demolished an extraordinary amount of king crab.
And I remember how much fun we were having.
I was telling Peggy about this story again today, and I asked her what she remembered about that night.
Her explanation was considerably shorter than mine.
“It was fun, and it was good.”
And there you have it.
Decades of marriage, countless adventures, and one of my favorite memories of Peggy can be summed up in eight words…
I still think the casino lost money that night.