I read the first half of a book written by sarcastic, funny, healthy females. It was a how-to book on changing one’s eating habits, and they accomplished this by dedicating the first portion of their book to describing in disgusting detail the process of a slaughter house.
Done. I was a believer. I slammed the book after chapter 4.2 with resigned indignation. How could I have been so ignorant for so long? All those burgers, all those eggs?
I felt disgusting. I went for a run and afterward basked in the excitement my new found lifestyle as I showered off all my greasy, meaty sins that were weighing me down.
Grocery store time. This is what you purchase when you are a vegan:
-tomato sauces (NO MEAT!)
No cheese, no eggs, no milk. My heart was sinking faster than that ship they called unsinkable and then sunk on it‘s maiden voyage. I love cheese.
I left with my bags of food, all very healthy, all very uncooked, all very boring. I walked to my car slowly, swinging my grocery bags and kicking pebbles along the way. My cheese loving heart was already beginning to wane.
I had just declared on every form of social media “Officially a Vegan! Can’t believe I ever ate animal products! Gross!”
I had to give it a try.
The next morning I was feeling very accomplished, having enjoyed two vegan meals the day before, this was going to be a piece of cake!
I poured myself some cereal and dumped soy milk on top. Coffee (no cream) to accompany.
Soy milk is cussing awful. I spit it right back in to my bowl.
Very bummed, but not ready to give up, I drank my coffee and headed to work.
By the end of the shift I was eating mozzarella sticks.
Tonight I enjoyed a roasted red pepper, spinach, and chicken bratwurst. I topped it with cheese and washed it all down with a tall glass of ice cold skim milk. It was glorious.
I’m working on this thing called commitment, apparently I have not yet nailed it down.