Preppy and I are dining out, having a fine time. He’s having pasta. I went for the duck. As I’m going on about the week in celebrity tragedies, I notice he keeps glancing at my plate.“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Remember that time we went to Piedmont Park and fed the ducks? Remember how cute they were?”
“Eat your pasta.”
“I’m just sayin’. You think your dinner knew those ducks? Maybe they were friends.”
“I wonder if his friends are this savory and delicious.”
I return to my meal. Until Preppy starts throwing pieces of bread at it.
“Quaaaack.”
I threaten him with my fork. We return to the meal.
When I first met my boyfriend, he described himself as a “pretty much vegetarian.” I found this compelling, as I was unaware there were varying degrees. I thought it was like being “pretty much pregnant.” That is to say, you either are or you ain’t. But Preppy explained that after many years of being unable to order anything at fast food restaurants, he’d amended his vegetarianism to allow for creatures of the sea. So these days, he just doesn’t eat anything with feet.
Years of working in restaurants left me mystified by people’s requests. When I was a server, I’d get the occasional vegan asking what their options were on the menu. I’d offer them a refreshing glass of water. Or people asking if there’s dairy in the mashed potatoes. Of course there is. Why on earth would you think otherwise? No self-respecting potato below the Mason-Dixon Line would allow itself to be mashed without copious amounts of butter and milk. And swear I never even heard of anyone allergic to gluten until the mid-nineties. Is that a new thing? How do you create a new allergy? Gluten’s been around as long as there’s been food. Why the sudden trouble?
This is why I wasn’t a very good waiter.
Because when I’d encounter such people, I was unable to suppress my need to know more, and I’d ask them to explain themselves. And then I’d offend them by saying something like, “Why does it matter where the chicken was raised? It’s a little late to worry about its quality of life now,” and they’d get offended, my manager would have to give them a free dessert, and I’d get a stern lecture about not interrogating the customers.
Preppy’s diet left me deeply troubled when we were first dating. Why fish and not pork? Is it because it’s easier to picture a mammal having a personality? I saw “Finding Nemo.” Fish are very droll and observant creatures with extraordinarily eventful lives. And for that matter, look at those “Veggie Tales” characters I keep seeing on posters at bus stops. You can anthropomorphize anything if you put a pair of googly eyes on it and give it a few witty lines of dialogue; I see no reason to let that ruin your dinner.
Living with him has been a really healthy development for me in this arena. My attachment to Preppy forces me to defend his self-imposed dietary restrictions, despite the fact that were it anyone else, I would consider it patently absurd. When I first explained it to my mother, who would kill a cow with her bare hands if it was the only way she could make brisket for Sunday dinner, it just blew her damn mind.
“But why?” she kept asking, and no explanation would suffice.
“Because that’s what he likes, Mama,” I said finally, and she had no argument for that.
Actually, “Because I like it,” is a pretty solid justification in any awkward scenario. Picture it: “Why do you only eat raw food?” “Why do you smoke?” “Why did you paint this room orange?” “Why do you have sex with other dudes?”
“Because I like it.”
Sure, they could exhaust themselves with inquiry or implore you to change your mind, but when it comes down to it, if you stand firm with that simple explanation it’s a tough one to topple. As I finish my delicious duck, and my boyfriend flaps his arms and quacks at me, I decide to use it more often. Feel free to do the same.
Try it, you might like it.
Preppy’s diet left me deeply troubled when we were first dating. Why fish and not pork? Is it because it’s easier to picture a mammal having a personality? I saw “Finding Nemo.” Fish are very droll and observant creatures with extraordinarily eventful lives. And for that matter, look at those “Veggie Tales” characters I keep seeing on posters at bus stops. You can anthropomorphize anything if you put a pair of googly eyes on it and give it a few witty lines of dialogue; I see no reason to let that ruin your dinner.
Living with him has been a really healthy development for me in this arena. My attachment to Preppy forces me to defend his self-imposed dietary restrictions, despite the fact that were it anyone else, I would consider it patently absurd. When I first explained it to my mother, who would kill a cow with her bare hands if it was the only way she could make brisket for Sunday dinner, it just blew her damn mind.
“But why?” she kept asking, and no explanation would suffice.
“Because that’s what he likes, Mama,” I said finally, and she had no argument for that.
Actually, “Because I like it,” is a pretty solid justification in any awkward scenario. Picture it: “Why do you only eat raw food?” “Why do you smoke?” “Why did you paint this room orange?” “Why do you have sex with other dudes?”
“Because I like it.”
Sure, they could exhaust themselves with inquiry or implore you to change your mind, but when it comes down to it, if you stand firm with that simple explanation it’s a tough one to topple. As I finish my delicious duck, and my boyfriend flaps his arms and quacks at me, I decide to use it more often. Feel free to do the same.
Try it, you might like it.
