I once gave up meat twice.
The first time was because of a girl. Typical – right? You see, she was a strict vegetarian and so I thought that I would be in-with-a-chance (so to speak) if I became one too.
This is how my first day as a born-again-vegetarian went:
- Caught bus to work
- Went to sandwich shop
- Purchased breakfast sandwich
- Got half way through said meal
- Realised that I was eating a bacon, egg and tomato sandwich
- Reasoned to myself that I could start the diet tomorrow instead
- Finished eating, and thoroughly enjoying my breakfast.
I did remember to change my sandwich the very next morning, and I got the girl … but the diet only lasted as long as she did. Hey-ho.
The second time was because of my hand on the handle of the frying pan. I used to go to see my nannan (maternal grandmother) a couple of times a week when she was with us (and not quite as often afterwards), and she used to buy me food so that I could cook it for my dinner. This one time, it was pork chops.
So I started frying them and then, suddenly, something grabbed my attention. I noticed that my hand was the same colour as the meat, and that there were long bones in both my hand and the chop, and that the chop had a muscular structure that was not unlike that of my hand. There was something so profoundly similar between my hand and the contents of the frying pan that I never knowingly ate meat at any point after that!
Apart from the chops, of course – which were deslish!