Mom and Dad picked up the keys, drove a few minutes, then pulled into the driveway of our home for the next two weeks. The time it took me and Jack to exit the car, change into our swim trunks and jump head first into the ocean could have been measured in seconds.

That evening, Mom and Dad had the nearly impossible task of tearing us away from the water to get ready for dinner at the country club.

The waiter came over, went over the daily specials and took our drink order. Dad ordered appetizers for us when the waiter came back - four shrimp cocktails. The waiter seemed a little puzzled,but dutifully nodded.

Placing a large tray down next to our table,the waiter returned.Jack's eyes bugged out like a bullfrog's. With two hands the waiter placed the first shrimp cocktail in front of my mom. He repeated this labor three times until each of us had his "appetizer"in front of him. We were thunderstruck.

These were not the shrimp folks bought for fifteen dollars a pound up north-frozen, pale, thumb nail size jobs. These were mutant shrimp, some kind of Godzilla/lobster experiment, genetic freaks. These shrimp could eat the shrimp we got back home. They wouldn't be fifteen bucks a pound in Connecticut, they'd be fifteen bucks EACH. And with each cocktail containing eight of these monstrosities, they were more than a shrimp lover's delight. This was a crustacean cornucopia. This was beyond extravagant to us. This depletion of the ocean was downright obscene.

The waiter drawled, "Enjoy," and began to turn away.

"Hey pal, wait a second." Dad said ,waving him back. "These things are shrimp?"

"Yes sir, just like you ordered, four shrimp cocktails."

"But ah, but ah, where do they come from?"

"The ocean, sir."

"No, no. Where do you get them from?"

"Oh, Huck's Shrimp Boat Company. You had to pass it on your way in, between here and Lady Island."

Jack shot up. "Oh, that's where mom saw the great big alligator," giggling with delight.

Dad's death stare instantly stifled what was sure to be a chorus of laughter from Jack and me.

We ate them all, all 36 of the flamingo-pink beasts.

Dinner arrived. Jack had ordered one of the specials-Low country stew. Mom, Dad and I had flounder. The first of the gastric anomolies began while we were eating the salads following the Roman shrimp orgy.

"What IS that?' I asked Jack, staring into his bowl.

"I dunno. Some kind of stew the guy said." he replied between gulps. "It's real good though."

The waiter checked on our progress, asking how our dinners were.

Jack looked up from his food. "'Scuse me mister. This stew's great. Is this chicken here, these chunks of meat?"

The waiter slyly smiled. "No, it's a local specialty made with tomatoes, corn, okra, squash and the meat there is alligator."

Jack's spoon bounced off the table on to the floor. His cheeks popped out like a pufferfish.

"Alligator? People eat alligators? That is sooo gross." I said.

My brother started gagging, spitting food into his napkin.

Mom jumped up. "Oh God, he's choking."

The waiter began to pound him on the back. Dad grabbed a glass of water. Seeing the inevitable, I put my napkin over my food.

Then it came - a violent upheaval of food erupted from his mouth, a Niagra Falls of shrimp, salad, Pepsi, and alligator stew. The pink, green, brown, and white blended together forming a pastel food river over the table and on to the floor.

Mom took Jack to the washroom to clean him up. Dad immediately got the bill from the waiter. I took my napkin off my plate and took a few more bites of flounder.

Jack and Mom started back to the table.With my arms striaght out in front of my face, my fingers like teeth., I opened and closed my imitation of a gator's jaws.

"Come on, lets go." Dad ordered.

Silently we marched out of the dining room.

The Score: Gators 2 , Yankees 0.

Ed Malone lives and works in Ohio. He currently studies creative writing at Cleveland State University.