Living with a Vegetarian

I’ve been a pseudo-vegetarian for about 14 years.  There are two primary reasons for being a pseudo-vegetarian:  1) you’re sleeping with a vegetarian; or 2) you’d like to be.  The third reason, my reason, is when you’re married to one.

A pseudo-vegetarian isn’t quite like being a real vegetarian.  Sure, we don’t eat much meat (at least not when she’s there to see), but your heart’s just not into it.  Sort of like the early Christian converts in Scandinavia who had to choose between conversion and death at the hand of their Christian king, "Saint" Olaf. With pseudo-veggies, it’s your love life that’s under threat of execution.

In fairness, the lifestyle really isn’t all that bad, unless you’re living with a hardcore orthodox vegetarian.  My wife belongs to the reformed church, and they’re a bit easier going.  I keep a bag of chicken breasts in the freezer for emergencies, and I still get the occasional burger eating out with friends or co-workers.  But the rest of the time, it’s legumes, cheese, and vegetable proteins in our house.  And ice cream.  God help me, I couldn’t do it without the ice cream.  I’d probably join a radical fundamentalist carnivore sect, and set off a Bolognese bomb at a local salad bar.

The hardest part is deciding how to raise the children.  Should they be raised as veggies or gentiles?  We haven’t had to choose yet:  Our older daughter is basically a carbivore, and the younger one only has two teeth.  Hopefully a burning bush will speak to us soon to lead us out of the desert.  The question is, will we be led to the land of milk and honey, or will it be the golden calf for them?

Mmmmm…..veal.