Gays and Granolas

“Are you sure you want to do this?  You’re really going to limit yourself .  Right away you knocking out white trash and any guys who watch sporting events, not to mention a whole world of chicken wing eaters.  Really your options pretty much nil after this,”

So says Sadie when I tell her I’ve gotten my Vegetarian Starter Kit, really just a thin publication decrying cruelty to animals at the hands of the agriculture industry.  It also goes into the damage this industry is doing to the environment as a result.

Sadie’s at the hardware store checking out fountains and buying mulch.  I bite my tongue to stop myself from telling her she should just use fallen leaves to mulch her flowerbeds.  When did I become this person?

“So what does that leave?” I ask.  “The gays and granolas, right?”

“Yep.  Oh, there’s a tranny here at Lowe’s,” she says.  “I could ask him-her for her-his number.”

“That’s allright.  I’m good.”

So, I read this book called Skinny Bitch in August and have since been meat free.  You try eating meat after reading the chapter on what goes on in slaughterhouses.  I still eat fish, and I’ve got a little addiction to the dill Havarti cheese they sell at Whole Foods that I’m not entirely comfortable with. But, hey, we all have our vices.  So I’m not a full on vegetarian.

What Sadie’s telling me is something I hadn’t really worried about.  Over the years, my family’s gotten used to my little quirks over organic foods and environmentalism, but I do like the guys who watch sporting events.

As much of a weirdo environmentalist/feminist/liberal as I must seem, I’m really pretty conservative in my views about the roles of men and women.  Maybe this is why I never married any of the sensitive, like-minded men I always seem to date.

I grew up with pretty working class guys as father figures.  One of my first memories is of sitting in the garage with the guys while they were working on a car.  That day, I had my very first sip of beer from one of those cans that you pushed the two metal circles in to drink from.  When I was about seven, I remember running around the pit area of the racetrack where my uncle raced his cars.  My mother’s brothers were always hanging out, playing guitar and surfing.

So, anyway, I guess I just think men should be men.  Beer drinking, rough talking, sports obsessed, taking out the trash, in the garage working on the car, fishing on the boat, grilling at the barbeque, golfing on Sundays, not talking about their feelings, hanging with the guys, looking at pretty girls when your head is turned, bug killing, person who gets up to see what that noise was.

And girls should be girls.

Okay, so maybe I am thinning out the dating pool a bit by giving up meat, but, honestly, anyone who falls in love with me will have to love all of me anyway.  Why try to be something you’re not?

 

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