The social implications of not partaking in the Rite of Dead Cow

So if you've been keeping tabs, which I totally wouldn't blame you if you're not, I'm on the 'eat vegetarian' portion of my 2 Week Resolutions. Which means I've been a vegetarian for...about a week.

(Since I've also been denied dairy, wheat, and sugar by the naturopath, I'm having a hard time with the meal planning. Lint, anyone?)

So far, it's pretty easy. Other than when I have any social contact whatsoever, that is.

Living in a bubble for one? Eating vegetarian is a breeze. Living with and (gasp) socializing with other people that reside in this redneck province? Um...not as easy.

The second day of my vegetarianism, we were invited over to a friends' house for Sunday dinner. I don't really know these people that well, they're more hubby's friends than mine, so I didn't feel totally comfortable announcing my recent conversion. I mean, there's a conversation custom-designed to make you feel like a tool:

"Oh! I'm a vegetarian, I can't eat that fragrant, delicious-looking, Flinstones-sized slab of ribs."

"Really? I didn't know you were a vegetarian."

"Um...well, just this week. And next week. If it lasts."

"You're a vegetarian for 2 weeks? Why?"

"...just because?"

Anyway. I now have an extremely belated sympathy for my friend Politika, who doggedly remained a vegetarian in this animal-flesh-loving prairie town, all through high school and maybe a little while afterwards until she could make her escape to the much more enlightened West Coast. It couldn't have been easy, trying to eat out and attend social gatherings like barbecues and dinner parties and the annual Bacon Dance. All the while obnoxious, meat-eating heathens demanding to know why you couldn't just eat ONE bite, I mean, c'mon, it's not going to KILL you. It's delicious!

(I may or may not have been one of those people. I refuse to answer on the grounds that it's pretty fucking obvious that I was.)

Like most places, social activity here just revolves around food. And the assumption is, on the prairies, that food means meat. Usually red meat. And potatoes. With beer. (Sometimes one or all of those things is deep fried.)

My third night of vegetarianism, hubby and I had a pre-arranged date night. At a steak house.

Tomorrow night? Fundraiser steak night.

Well...ONE bite isn't going to kill me, right? C'mon.

(...This resolution is doomed.)