Some time ago – when I still worked in the Office of the Living Dead – it so happened that it was someone at work’s birthday, so we had a morning tea. Bossy Boots had cooked a cake (what – a successful budding executive, near-Olympic kayaking champion, all-round athletic golden girl AND she can find time to bake cakes!!) and we all sat down to enjoy a girlish gossip. Which would have been entirely girlish if BB had not also invited the office heart-throb, a dark-eyed, oily-grinned young man of stunning tediousness.
In any case – goes on grumpy Rose – the whole conversation consisted of meat. How Bossy Boots likes her meat (practically raw, and three times a day). How, as outback girls, several women had been forbidden to name lambs, calves etc lest there be tears when they ended up on the plate at dinnertime. How somebody had eaten chicken feet with gusto, and somebody else, dogs testicles. How delicious witchetty-grubs are, and frogs legs, and pork sausages stuffed with prawns. How somebody had paid $500 to eat roast lamb in Paris, where apparently they mostly eat goat stew.
The only thing wrong with this meaty extravaganza is this – I’m mostly vego and fonder of animals alive and mooing than dead and oozing gore. Since Mr F is a carnivore, we eat dead animal once a week, but I always make sure it’s had a life before it had a death (and baby animals are off the menu).
So I’m sitting there trying not to puke and thinking ‘it’ll all be over soon’ – but as usual I can’t quite bite that tactless tongue of mine so I say, sweetly,
“Has anyone tried blowfly? They’re big and fat and there’s lots of them – very eco-friendly.”
My director thinks I’m serious. No, she says, they’re a bit unhygienic. Ms Bossy Boots gets it though. ‘There’s not much meat on them,” she says reflectively, ‘otherwise perhaps I would’.
I wouldn’t have minded if she ate blowflies. I guess I’m not a very GOOD vegetarian. Or person.