So, I’ve been rocking the vegan lifestyle for about 5 months now. Is it difficult? Sometimes. But
with the encouraging words and support from my husband add on to this the fact that JD is an asshole, and it’s damn near impossible to consume anything in this house except salami and Corona.
Every single morning I make an amazing strawberry banana oatmeal. It’s loaded with walnuts and sunflower seeds, then topped with a dash of cinnamon. The other night, for no apparent reason, JD felt it necessary to interject with his dumbass opinion right as I was talking about how much I love my breakfast. “That shit smells horrible every time you make it,” he stated. “I’m talking straight-up strawberry feet.” I started to argue with him that it tasted like a summer morning and the fountain of youth all rolled into one lovely bowl of heaven, but before I could say anything, he added, “It smells like someone left out old strawberries in a gym shoe, and heated it up…And that…THAT…is what you’re putting in your mouth.”
Then, there was the dinner showdown. It’s summer, and we’ve been in grilling mode at least 5 nights a week. JD likes to enjoy a few brewskies and a rare steak. This is also known as gout, or “da gout” for my East Coast counterparts. I, on the other hand, prefer to keep my arteries open, and therefore opt for black bean burgers. My husband refuses to call them anything but “puke burgers.”
Here, I’ll show you how this worked in a conversation. I asked for a simple favor: “Hey JD, wonderful spouse, would you please throw a black bean burger on the grill for me? You’re the best, ever.” And he responded, “Oh, do you mean puke burgers? Because every time you say ‘bean burger,’ I just think about that, and then I think, Oh my God, I’m gonna’ throw up all over myself. Seriously, I wouldn’t give that to a homeless guy.”
With those words, I actually caught him dry-heaving a little bit. Can I just get some support around here?