The woman returned to the car, fresh from Petland, carrying whatever ridiculous cat-related thing that simply couldn’t wait until tomorrow. “You’re going to wish you wore your shoes,” she triumphantly blasted. See, the woman has a habit of announcing ludicrous “urgent” errands on a daily basis, and to keep these errands from growing into full-blown shopping trips, I started driving without any shoes on. This limited the swag from her adventures to whatever she could carry, instead of whatever we could both carry. No shoes, no service. Plus, I like AM radio and that’s the only time I get ten minutes to listen to it.

You may think me wicked, but please understand, I am dealing with a person who will gladly purchase four 18-packs of paper towels if there’s a “sale” sign anywhere within a two mile radius. We’re talking about a woman who literally tears up if we drive past a Costco. The no-shoes thing isn’t an act of spite; it’s pure preservation. We have rent, we have bills, we have Ninja Turtles figures. I need to keep us on budget, even if it means disgusting wet socks.

I’m sure the woman has a different understanding of this no-shoes ploy, which is why she so gleefully informed me that my lack of footwear had ruined the chance of a lifetime: “They’re selling a moon crab in there for ten bucks. With the tank and everything.”

It seemed like years, but it honestly couldn’t have been more than nine seconds later when I returned, now armed with sneakers and camera. A moon crab?! I had no fucking idea what a “moon crab” was, but clearly I had to own one. Heck, at ten bucks, I wouldn’t have cared if it was a dead moon crab. This was all for the sake of owning something, anything, called a “moon crab.” We are all conformists in our own ways, but deep down, everyone wants to be part of a fringe demographic. What could be more outskirtsy than being among the six people in the universe who have ever owned a moon crab?

I didn’t even give myself a chance to properly digest Petland’s display of designer dog hair products before darting for the you-know-what. Petland’s latest thing is a shelf full of ready-made pets right near the register — meaning they sell fish, frogs, lizards and other simple, “easy” pets, all in complete tank setups, with all of the needed baubles. (We could spend another fifty paragraphs on how the shoddy plastic tanks with no light, heat or any other life necessities put you on the fast track to dead pets, but let’s keep our inner animal activists in check so I can enjoy my god damned crab.)

In the midst of this madness, there he was. I could barely see him behind the giant sign reading “MOON CRAB $9.99″ (which I am saving forever), but I saw enough to know that $9.99 was a ridiculously awesome price for a moon crab, tank, gravel, food bowl and dirty water.

I didn’t expect many graces from today. I really didn’t. Fresh coffee was looking to be the standard by which all of the other good things about today would be measured. Then came the moon crab. THE MOON CRAB! I own a MOON CRAB!

I OWN A MOON CRAB!

Everything you see above is everything I went home with — including the food. According to my research, this is a piss poor way to treat a moon crab. The setup couldn’t be more wrong. The food is wrong, the water is wrong, even the friggin’ gravel is wrong. This so-called crab paradise was barely adequate enough to safely transfer him from Petland to Mattland, so I’m going to have to invest in a proper setup tomorrow.

<3 <3 <3 Look at him! He’s forty-five different colors! He has claws! He killed Man Eating Chicken! And he’s not one of those lousy crabs who sit underwater all day, oh no. He can do his shimmy shake on land, too. This is important, because if there’s one thing nobody should have to live without, it’s the pitter-patter of cute crab feet clanking against stuff in the morning. We’re talking white noise for the new millennium.

Best of all, web research tells me that these creatures are frequently sold as Halloween crabs, which explains why the girl at Petland wrote “Hallo Crab” in the little book of records that they keep. I have no idea if “Halloween crab” is an officially-given title, or just a promotional tool devised to attract customers who are in the market for pet crabs during the month of October. Either way, I’m thrilled.

Plus, George the moon crab doesn’t have to live on disgusting foods that I don’t want to serve him. Among other things, these guys will eat bananas, celery and apples. A crab named after the moon and Halloween, who doesn’t need to remain underwater, and who eats bananas? Tuesdays are the new Saturdays.

Moon crabs are happiness. I’m off to read more about my new best friend.

(Sean the Fish Guy — if you’ve stuck with X-E throughout its long drought, please, I need your advice!)

Posted by Matt. E-mail me!