Shellfish

My son Jack is seven and has just started using the phone regularly. I got a voicemail from him at work today. Bella had a couple of friends over for the afternoon. In amongst other incoherent babble about Pokemon and Star Wars, Jack said that Bella and her friends needed to be punished because they were being shellfish.

Shellfish?

For the life of me I could not figure out what that meant. Were they doing a play? Some sort of Down by the Waterfront adaptation where they all dressed up like lobsters and shouted ‘BELLA’ like a crustacean version of Marlon Brando? Were they playing in the pool and pretending to be the clam that ate Pittsburgh? Were they singing ‘We are Family’ as the Oyster Sisters?

He sounded distraught about it, too, which made me wonder why he was so upset at them being shellfish? Did they smell bad, like a snail left in the sun? Were they pretending they were crabs and pinching him? What could a shellfish possibly do that would upset him?

Of course, maybe he meant they were eating shellfish. Given that we’re on a forced diet of salmon twice a week, just the thought of a seafood dinner turns everyone’s stomach.
I called home but there was no answer, which left me with the vision of Jack and his Mom locked in closet with giant oysters snapping at the door.

When I got home, I found out the problem: my hearing. Bella and her friends were being selfish, not shellfish, which was decidedly worse in Jack’s mind. He thought they should be drawn and quartered for it and Bella thought Jack was a meddling twit. It all melted down like butter and ended in a fight. Typical day at Oyster Flats.