“… I thought it was some of your vegan shit.”
Let me back up. Door bell rings this morning. It is my Serbian neighbor. She hands me a package of mystery meat (barf!) for Lucky, my super cute dog for those who don’t know.
See Lucky is from a small village in Thailand. For the first 2 years of her life, I had to cook her food. There was no dog food in Ban Chaleang, Thailand so it was chicken and rice, fish and rice, mystery meat and rice… leftovers and rice. You get the picture.
Yes, I rolled up my sleeves, and I cooked some pretty nasty shit for the love of my dog.
So when my neighbor brings over a mystery meat for my dog this morning, I know Lucky would hate me if I took it and placed it right in the trash.
I gave Lucky one piece, and then put the rest in the fridge thinking I’d give her one more piece later and then toss it. The sketchier the meat product, the more Lucky loves it. She is definitely not a vegan.
So, I leave for swim practice.
Dave comes home from work, starving, in need of a meal before heading out the door to teach.
He grabs the mystery meat, thinks “so nice of my wife to make me some weird vegan shit and leave it in the fridge for me.”
He makes a veggie wrap, adds the “mystery vegan meat” and devours it while watching the news. He thinks it tastes kinda funny, but tells himself it is probably good for him if his wife made it.
I call him after I swim. He inquires about what I left him in the fridge.
Me: “Um… Snecky, the neighbor, brought over some food for Lucky.”
Dave: “I ate the f-ing dog food that the neighbor brought over that they had in their fridge for god knows how long. I think I want to throw up.”
Yeah, me too.
Moral of the story: If it looks like a mystery meat, smells like a mystery meat, and by golly tastes like a mystery meat… it probably is mystery meat.
This is no different for some “vegan shit” either.