Vegan Part II

Dear Reader:

 

I feel as if I may have left you hanging. My apologizes. By now you must realize that the raccoon and I have much in common. We both struggle to open the dog food container (cussing as we end up ass over face into the flower bed), revel in pretending that we are being sneaky, despite the 50 lb. dog barking at us, and are easily distracted by shiny objects. Earlier in my blog I had professed a switch to a vegan diet, and then never followed up. So here’s what happened:

I lasted exactly 3 days, 7 hours and 14 minutes. What happened? Calder. You see, this boyfriend of mine happens to be a master chef. (Don’t you dare tell him I said that, the man has enough ego as it is, and my arms couldn’t take all the bowing down that would ensue). And by master chef I don’t mean that he has the ability to heat up mac n’ cheese. I’m talking banana pancakes with strawberry garnishes, Gorgonzola stuffed elk burgers, homemade crab cakes with a zest of lemon, apple and walnut salad with homemade vinaigrette, baked brie in a flakey crust with huckleberry sauce… quit drooling ladies. He’s quite taken, and I warn you that I am a master in the art of humiliating sarcasm.

So I wake up-which, let’s for a moment think about waking up… (see? Raccoon-like senses).  Thanks in large part to Hollywood; I grew up imagining that women wake up with perfectly refreshed complexions, long and defined gently batting eyelashes, and hair that is just so perfectly rumpled that it is endearing. I clung to that hope for many years, until I finally realized that not only do I wake up like a mole exposed to sunlight, I am highly prone to being crabby. Throw in a pillow mark on my cheek, hair resembling a Who in a bar fight, and mascara smudged on my eyebrow- and I am lucky anyone says ‘I love you’ prior to 8am. I have finally learned to accept that while some woman are blessed with an early morning glow; I am not one of them until I have married rich.

As I was saying, dear Chef-boy (who is either oblivious to my state, or has learned to not poke the bear- most likely the latter…) wakes me up with a homemade breakfast burrito. A chorizo burrito. An elk chorizo burrito. An elk that he shot himself. I frickin’ love elk chorizo. And not eating the meat that a man painstakingly provided for his woman is surely an insult to manhood. So I ate it. It was delicious. I didn’t even cringe.

“Is that an egg?” Our friend Tad looks at me quizzically, arms loaded with Doritos and PBR. 

“Yup!” I clutch the egg tighter to my chest so I don’t drop it.

“Your buying an egg. At a gas station. To go floating.” He cocks his head to one side, trying to decide if I am serious.

“Yup!” I purchase my egg and wander out to the Bro-stop.

“Is that an egg?” Calder looks at me, just making sure his eyes aren’t deceiving him.

“Yup!” I crawl into the backseat and joyfully begin peeling it.

“That’s gunna stink you know.”

“Yup!” I bite into it. Yum. Hits the spot.

Calder shakes his head and jumps in. Luckily, by now he is used to my eccentricity.

My vegan experiment definitely left me more conscious of my eating habits. Gone are the dinners of cinnamon rolls, and the lunches of pop-tarts. I’m not going to claim that I am super healthy- let’s face it, when Calder is working through the dinner hour I happily cart off a box of frozen mozzarella sticks as a meal. But I have forced myself to be a bit more aware of where my food is coming from. If I couldn’t locate the farm that provided my milk, then I probably won’t buy it. If I don’t know where that burger came from on my plate, then it won’t be as satisfying. Admittedly, it does make me feel better. I don’t know that I will ever make it to the elite realm of veganism, (holy chorizo burrito), but at least things are changing for me. And sometimes, the changes that take the longest are the ones that stick.

And did I mention my man can cook? Oh you lucky lucky girl Ashley…