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After feasting on seven fish over the holidays, Hubby decided he didn't quite get his fill of crab legs. He only got a taste on Christmas Eve, so now that we were out and about spending our various gift cards, he couldn't shake a strong craving for the ocean meat.

That is how we ended up at a seafood restaurant one chilly January evening. Sure, we still had leftover lobster bisque, herring salad, cream puffs and rolled mozzarella and prosciutto with flat parsley. There was also a bit of the catfish stew -- my Southern-born children's request for the traditional Italian spread -- sitting in a tub on the bottom shelf of the fridge.

But the crab legs had been polished off the very night they were originally served, and Hubby needed more.

It is my philosophy that one has to be in the mood for crab legs to truly enjoy every delicate bite. One has to be ready and willing to work for the meal -- forcefully breaking apart the exoskeleton and digging, pulling and yanking out the edible innards.

Not only had I consumed my fill of seafood, I had just redone my nails. After hundreds of hours of cooking, cleaning and hosting in the past couple of weeks, my nails finally looked presentable. I'd chosen French tips with gem-accented snowflakes on the two ring finger nails. I was not about to risk losing one of my red faux gems or chipping the white paint.

Therefore, Hubby happily ordered his crab legs while I settled for beef tips and the vegetable selection du jour. My goal was to enjoy a plate of bite-sized food stuffs while protecting my girlie nails.

I knew something was wrong when our entrees arrived and the pleasant dinner conversation continued. Not that I don't enjoy chitchatting with my soul mate. However, an overflowing plate of steaming crab legs sat on the table, and yet, as he began cracking and nibbling, Hubby still found time to recount a funny story from work.

You have to understand -- I take my crab leg eating quite seriously. When faced with a plate of the delicacy, I quietly and methodically crack, poke, pull and eat until every morsel of meat has been extracted and consumed, ignoring everyone until dessert.

Hubby, I was finding out, was more of a novice crab leg eater. He enjoyed the bite he was able to grab off the buffet on Christmas Eve. However, it suddenly dawned on me that I had no other recollection of him eating crab legs. Never had he ordered them during a vacation at the beach. Never had he purchased them for a romantic, candlelit dinner for two.

Did he even realize how difficult it would be to remove the silky sea meat? Would he appreciate the time and effort needed to fully enjoy such a meal? Did he know that he could order dessert at the end, because one burns more calories getting to the meat than are actually in the crab, if there is no butter-dipping involved?

I tried to remain calm and uncritical as I carefully forked my tips and nibbled on steamed carrots and squash. We talked and casually laughed about the events of the past week. The pile of crab leg shells grew on the extra plate between us.

I tried to ignore the pile, but even Hubby noticed as my gaze paused at the plate. I hated to interrupt his intriguing anecdote, but surely he wanted to be aware of the fact that he was missing out on some of his meal. "Uh, Sweetie, I think you might have missed some meat there," I interjected.

"What?" It took him a few seconds to switch gears from the latest office gossip to crab meat-eating etiquette, but the fact that I couldn't take my eyes off the half-emptied leg fragments seemed to drive the point home. "Oh, yeah, thanks."

He picked up a piece and looked inside, noticing some meat remains. I suggested he use the minifork resting on his napkin. That's when the waiter came by to remove empty plates and glasses to give us "more room," which is code for "it's about time for you to leave so I can get another potential tip seated before next Thursday."

"He's not done," I stated sternly, but with a smile. The waiter took my empty plate and the hint. Hubby, also catching on, began rooting through his shells to find tons more delicious crab meat.

An hour later, over a shared dessert -- I only needed a bite -- Hubby disclosed that he now fully understood why I seemingly shut out the world when I am enjoying crab legs. I offered that future nail salon appointments will be scheduled for the day after quiet crab leg meals for two.

Micki Bare is a columnist for the Arkansas News Bureau and the Courier-Tribune in Asheboro, N.C., and author of the book, "Relative Expressions." She lives in Asheboro with her husband and three children. Her e-mail address is mickibare@inspiredscribe.com.