I know I might have done my husband a slight disservice by announcing to the world how over-the-top wonderful he is. I mean, he hunts down Kelly Ripa’s Valentino dresses. But he does other things, less exciting (and expensive) things for me on a daily basis that I really mostly don’t deserve. Because I don’t know if you realized this, but I’m kind of a crazy person. A basketcase, if you will. I’m Ally Sheedy’s character from The Breakfast Club and yes, I do always carry this much shit in my bag. I even recently had this very conversation at the Toronto airport when said bag fell ass-over-tealkettle and said shit decorated the floor of terminal 1′s security line-up.
He is growing a beard for me, mostly because I really, really miss watching Sons of Anarchy. Also, because beards are seriously appealing. Not like, uh, Duck Dynasty beards where food and other trinkets could potentially get lost—those are not appealing and a little bit frightening for a germophobe like I am. Of course I am.
He is growing a vegetable garden for me.
And, well, he is also growing a thick skin for me because he is indulging me these days. I am almost fairly certain that I don’t really ever want to eat meat again.
Yes, my carnivorous chef of a husband has just nodded his head and is okay with the fact that I don’t want to eat his delicious ribs or steak or chicken or the homemade sausages that he is planning to make with his brand-new sausage-maker toy. Oh yes he does have one.
Last week I was pretty much thrown completely over the edge. I have always fancied myself somewhat of a flexitarian. I don’t know if I actually coined this term, but, well, let’s just say that I have been straddling the line between meat and no meat for many, many years. It was likely a commitment thing—I’m not the best at it. I have enough trouble choosing a breakfast cereal, let alone an entire eating lifestyle choice. It’s too much!
Also, there’s this wee problem of all the damn allergies. Oh yes. Try being a Pinterested vegetarian when you are allergic to all nuts and avocado.
It can’t be done.
Everything has nuts and avocado. Or both.
But last week, you guys.
I opened the freshly bought raw chicken to make dinner. I don’t often make dinner that isn’t my famous homemade cheese sauce or grilled cheese and tomato soup or breakfast-for-dinner night. You see, when Daddy is a chef and never makes the same thing twice, the kids count on Mama to make the staple comfort foods. Sometimes you just don’t want to eat homemade Indian food because, well, you have training the next morning and you just know that this might not end, uh, well. But I was making the chicken!
And then there was a smell.
“Josh, come here and smell this.”
“Does it smell kind of funky to you?”
“Well, is there an actual smell because sometimes I think there’s a smell and I’m really just being kind of a crazy person so I’m not really sure. You know how I am about milk, sweetie? Daddy isn’t here so I need you to just smell it for me, k?”
“I’m not sticking my face in that. And you shouldn’t either.”
And my 10-year-old son was absolutely right.
If I need to be sticking my face into raw animal meat to see if it’s actually good or maybe, possibly off, I probably shouldn’t be eating it at all.
So. Well. There it is.
I started this post as a non-vegetarian and I finished it as a vegetarian. Ten years of writing on the Internet and I am still full of surprises.
But now I just need to find some recipes on Pinterest that don’t have avocado. Or nuts.
And refuse the homemade sausages this weekend.
But I love a challenge. So.