Saturday night, when we were out with friends for Husband's birthday, we went to a sushi spot on Sunset. When all the couples were ordering rolls and slabs of dead fish and whatnot, they asked me what kind of sushi I liked. Husband chimed in and loudly said, "DON'T WORRY 'BOUT HER, SHE'S A VEGAN." Which sometimes you just want to keep on the down low because the mass public loves to have a confrontation about this subject. So the people at the table started to ask me why as I blushed demurely. Husband, who apparently was my mouthpiece for the night said, "It's not like she does it for moral reasons . . . " And the sentence trailed off into a light echo as I stared at him.
I quickly added, "Well, that is part of it; y'know, moral reasons. I mean, the killing bothers me. It's how they treat THEN kill them, that really bothers me. But it's mainly how contaminated I think all animal products are . . ." I thought, am I really going to be Debbie Downer at this dinner party right now? Somebody help me.
One dinner guest said, "Yeah, you're a vegan with a peacock purse."
WHAT THE FUCK -- attacking my purse? My fantastic 1950's clutch with the peacock feather decorating the front that I bought from EBay for $20? Is this necessary, to be so judgmental? This guy is going to point out the imperfections of my veganism as he stuffs his face with bottom-dwelling, shit-eating shrimp? It's a feather adorning the front, not the poor bird's carcass. These types always think they've gained a small victory when they point out you've failed at something that seems too hard for them. I said, "My mother (who was also a vegan) used to buy old fur-lined items at old ladies' garage sales and would declare, 'Someone has to care for them now.'"
But the dinner party was already thinking, "Mmmhmm. Vegan Schmegan."
Obviously what bothered me most was that Husband believes I'm a callus vegan. One only concerned with the health aspects of veganism and of course, that disgusting contamination thing that I'm neurotically paranoid about. Seriously . . . one of the (many) things I thought about when they were finally able to drain New Orleans was, Where is that water going? For God sake, no one eat the fish coming from the Gulf of Mexico and, fuck it, from the entire Atlantic.
I'm off the subject . . .I don't think my husband realizes how much this is a moral issue for me. That saddens me, and I wonder if I am not vocal enough. But any adjustment I make to my life comes from a lot of thought and is based in morality. Maybe I should tell Husband that. Or maybe I don't have to make any goddamn explanations for why I don't eat animals or why I wear conscientious make up (a lot of it, thank you) or why I want to take care of my pretty peacock purse.
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