What I have to say will shock and maybe anger you. So, I’ll get to the point. I have a feminine side to me. Indeed, I play for “the other team.” I still put my pants on one leg at a time, but you can bet I take them off for different reasons than you do.
Yes, I’m “that way”.
Today I admit to you and the world that I am a vegetarian. Tomorrow, you will call me a wuss and never read my column again.
That’s okay with me, at least the lies will end. The endless nights spent tossing and turning, wondering whether my precious readers will still love me once they find out my terrible secret. But, alas, when the AP broke my vegetarianism, only two days before my best friend’s bachelor party, I told myself that I would fess up.
It might seem ironic to people like you, normal people, that I would choose not to eat meat; that when I order beer, it’s with salad not steak. That for indigestion I have to turn to beans not Slim Jims. That the last thing I killed was a moth, and that was by mistake. And it made me cry.
Do I still deserve your love? Probably not. I’ve been lying to you, my family and myself all these years. When I pass you in the halls, you’ll probably look down. When I say “hi,” you’ll look the other way. I understand.
I too, at one point, hated people like the man I’ve become. I ‘d say things like: “Why won’t you eat cheeseburgers? The cows are asking for it. What with all that grazing and stuff! They think they own the world!”
In high school, I stole the veggie kids’ lunch money because “They weren’t gonna eat anything substantial anyway.” I even bought a fur coat made of cocker spaniel and proudly wore it around town.
But two years ago I came to terms with my true feelings. I was eating a Bacon Deluxe Burger with Cheese when it happened. The scrumptious juices– bacon, meat, pickle– were squishing in my mouth, when suddenly I gagged.
I looked at the bacon burger and the bacon burger looked at me. “What’s wrong? Don’t you still love me?” asked the bacon burger.
I set it down on the table. I turned my head to see if anyone was looking.
“No,” I whispered. “I… I just can’t eat you right now and I may never eat you again.”
It started crying ketchup all over me.
“Now don’t make a scene,” I said. “Please, I have to be true to who I am!”
“You! You’re one of them!” Bacon burger yelled. “He’s a VEGETARIAN!”
At that, everyone in McDonald’s turned in their seats as I ran out the door. I didn’t know where to turn. I jumped in my car and drove around until I found a place where people like me are accepted: Saladworks. There I crunched on lettuce like the girly-man I am.
My hope is that one day the people of this great nation will grow to accept me. That they will see that a man cannot be measured by what he eats, but by how far he can throw, how many beer cans he can consecutively smash on his forehead, and how many women he’s slept with in the last three days.
The day that men are rated in this fair and equal way is the day that I will be able to hold my head up high and say to Mr. Jock or Mr. Math Whiz, “I am a vegetarian… and I am proud.”