The following summer, I decided to try giving up meat for 30 days. Those thirty days turned into two decades, although for years my husband tried to wait me out, convinced it was "just a phase."
Just a little over a week ago, my husband decided to go on a "plant based diet" for 30 days and invited me to join him. He eased into it--the first day he just avoided "anything with a face or a mother." It's been a vegan week since--no dairy, no eggs. Unless you count the "butter" on our popcorn Saturday night. I don't. (Elaine Bennes covered the whole "is it real butter" issue for us, a while ago!)
We'll see how long this phase lasts! I know he'll make the 30 days--he sticks to his goals. He gave up wine for 40 days. (He invited me to join him on that venture, as well, but I couldn't commit to that one. This latest kick is much easier. Wine qualifies as "plant-based.")
Our first lunch date was during the week before Labor Day, twenty-two years ago. If you had told me then where I'd be now, I never would have believed it.
I never would have seen myself as someone who could give up cheese.
An amendment for my loyal readers:
I was notified via facebook of an inaccuracy in this post, this morning. I have some great friends (with amazing memories!) who, apparently, do pay attention to what I write here. My own memory is not so good and I do not fact-check my posts well enough. I regret to admit that I have not completely avoided meat for two decades.
I tried. I failed.
Nearly two decades ago, I was working for J. We were working quite late one night and he bought dinner for everyone. I was hungry famished. I was tired. There were no veggie options and I caved. I confess--I ate a turkey sandwich. Nineteen years ago.
As long as I am confessing (and before my family members rat me out) I also ate a bite of kielbasa on Easter. In 2008. My son saw it and has proudly told everyone that I am not a real vegetarian.
I am a fraud. Now you know.