“So how was the weekend” asks my new manager at work on Monday morning.
Me: “Great! We went skiing in Vermont and there was actually some decent snow…”
“Did you go out on Saturday night”
“Yes, we found this cute little restaurant that had actually been recommended to me by a friend. They had some good vegan options, which was nice”
“Is your boyfriend a vegan too?”
“Nope, he had steak*” and smiled ironically.
“Good, I was worried about him for a minute there…”
… dumbfounded silence as he walks off… Then (in my head): “does eating steak really make him more of a man? Make you worry about him less? It makes me worry about him more actually – heart disease, cancer, an acidic environment that causes all kinds of grief, (I want to add obesity but he’s a naturally thin one), stinky farts from rotting meat in his bowels, and see my footnote below… but I’m pleased you’re not worried!”
And then, manager later boasts that he had not one, but two big juicy burgers on Saturday. Glorious.
* This probably should have gone in this morning’s post re. the P word… My boyfriend, in all his educated wisdom and despite all my harping, sat down at the table and said “I’ve had a big day, I need some protein. I’m having the steak”.
Argh! All I can say is I’m not paying for the viagra if his arteries clog…