Meatness

October 12, 2016.Reading time 4 minutes.

I’m a fairly open-minded bloke. I actually like to hear differing opinions if they are well thought-out and can be communicated civilly. I typically refuse to argue a point because it doesn’t change anyone. As a rule, I don’t delve into politics often because they tend to divide. I like to think of myself as a uniter.

I live in the ultra-conservative southeast and I love it there. Recently I found myself preparing for a west coast trip. Before I left, a friend warned me about the liberal tripe I would be exposed to “out there”.

Surprisingly, I didn’t find IT. I supposed it is all in what you are looking for and what glasses you use to frame your view.

My lovely wife and I walked to dinner holding hands and there were other couples holding hands. Like us and not like us. We spoke to people – none of whom talked like us but we understood each other once they slowed down and we listened more intently. Both sides working a little but it really didn’t take much effort to facilitate conversation.

I was about to text my friend and tell him he was a paranoid idiot when IT happened! I was seated at breakfast and I became uncomfortable with a person nearby. The tables were too close together at this place and she was quite obviously different than me. We did not belong together. I considered asking the waiter to move me as she began giving her order. She was…

(OH THE HORROR!)

A vegetarian!

As she ordered her breakfast, I thought of many reasons why I could not be a vegetarian:

First, I really like meat.

Second, I’m not sure my family could put up with me if I ate only fibrous plants.

Third, the effort it took for her to make her dietary needs expressed is beyond my intelligence level. I only have to grunt and say “pig!”

Speaking of pig, I had three varieties on my plate within smell of her. The three divine pork food groups: bacon, sausage, and ham. Right there, on the plate beside her. Funny thing is, she didn’t ask to be moved or turn her nose up at me. She was so different, but she seemed to accept the difference. I had just shredded a piece of bacon with my teeth and gored a sausage as my next victim when she said hello.

“Why would this person of vegetable persuasion talk to me?” I wondered.

I responded awkwardly as I wiped the pig fat from my chin and what followed was a very pleasant conversation between meat lover and vegetarian. She didn’t seem to judge me for my meatness and I didn’t condemn her vegetableness and we got along swimmingly. We didn’t try to win the other over and I actually liked her even though I still prefer meat.

Huh?

Could it be that vegetarians are people too?

Can I survive their difference although we may never agree on what a fork should spear?

Good thing I get to go back to the Southeast where meat is revered. But wait, I hear vegetarians are migrating everywhere because we haven’t found a way to close borders as effectively as we can seal minds yet. What will become of our narrow little worlds if we are all mixed together with people who are different than us?

A little sightseeing with my lovely wife

A Favorite Butt

October 5, 2016.Reading time 5 minutes.

What have you lost? I’ve lost all kinds of stuff. My kids would say I’ve lost my mind, and that is often hard to debate. When they were small and we passed a sign for a lost dog or cat you could see their little hearts break. From the back seat, they’d keep their eyes peeled in the hopes of being the rescuer.

But what do you do with a sign like this that I saw on Saturday:

If you’re me, you dial the number!

Hello? (the voice was that of a tired-sounding older woman.)

Yes, I’m calling about the wicker loveseat.

Did you find her?

Well, no. I was just curious.

Curious about what?

Well, it isn’t often you see a sign for a lost loveseat.

Ah, I keep it handy. She’s run off before.

Run off? You mean you don’t think it was stolen?

Nah. She’s too ugly and beat up for someone to steal. She just ran off again.

(At this point, I’m thinking bats in the belfry and men in white suits driving a van with padded walls until she began to tell me her tale woe.)

Well, she gets lonely out on the porch, and hates the rain. But she don’t like being cooped up in the house, either. She can’t make up her mind what she wants. She’s been in the family for years but ever since my husband died, she ain’t been the same.

I’m sorry for your loss.

The chair? Or the husband?

Um… both?

Don’t be… about him. He was lazier and more worn out than the chair. But she seemed to like him. You know how you find a chair that just fits your backside perfect? You can look and look for another one, but they just don’t work.

Yeah, I get that.

Well I think it works in reverse, too.

Excuse me?

I mean the chair has a butt preference, too and when that butt is gone, no other one will do.

The chair has a favorite butt?

Why else would she keep running away when the butt is gone?

Are you talking about your husband or his backside?

You decide… Look! You called me. Do you know something about the chair or not?

No, I’m sorry.

You gonna help me look for her?

At this point I was feeling terribly guilty for stirring her up, so I agreed to scour the neighborhood for her runaway chair. It was odd. I’ve looked for pets before by calling their name every few seconds, whistling, and making sounds. I didn’t really know the best way to look for a wicker loveseat. What sounds might lure a chair? As I searched, I noticed several other confused men wandering around the streets with me until I realized that I was not alone in this endeavor. All of them must have inquired about the curious sign also – a couple even carried chairs toward the address she had given me. I went to her home and noticed dozens of wicker chairs of all shapes and sizes in her backyard deposited there by men who must have given up and grabbed anything they could find.

I wondered what was going on here. Had I become party to an underground wicker trade? I rang the bell and an old lady with a head full of curlers answered.

If you find her, just put her in the back with the others.

I thought you only lost one chair.

I did. But the party’s at eight and every butt needs a place to settle.

With a parting wink, she closed the door.