or try to change me. I had been seeing a single mother who was pretty cute, but very pushy. We matched well in most aspects of our personalities, but certain things really irritated me.
One thing I don’t talk about much is being vegetarian is part of my life, and it’s morphed into this weird game where some women have been talked about how they’re going to change me. Some of them are joking and some of them are serious. As time as gone on, I’ve started to incorporate some fish and some shrimp into my diet, but it constitutes maybe 2 meals of every week. It’s not a regular occurrence by any means.
Back on topic: I’m not trying to change their habits. Ok, I want their habit of having sex with me to go from not having sex with me to be having more sex with me than they were before, but can you blame me? I can’t.
Maybe it’s my personality that I’m just so laid back as to not try to change the person I am seeing. And if I do try to do so, I am subtle in my deviousness. This one was not subtle and that was the stupidity of it all.
We were at a nice restaurant and we each ordered what we wanted to eat. I knew we would have compatability issues because her spice rating would have been in her words, “a negative 1” and I can eat things without flinching that would strip the paint off a car. She was an unabashed carnivore which isn’t something I have an issue with. I just don’t like people criticizing what I am choosing to eat. You’re not my nutritionist so back off, and even my nutritionist knows to keep her fingers out of my mouth’s path to a plate of french fries. I’m a pescatarian but my teeth have minds of their own and can’t be held accountable for their actions.
So I order my meal, pomme frites, a nice mushroom dish and some salmon. She orders something braised, escargot, and something else. I don’t really mind what she orders, or paying for it.
Our meal comes and we’re eating and she takes the gravy from her braised dish and some vegetables and ceremoniously puts it on my plate. I’m polite but mortified. One, I don’t like people putting things on my plate without asking and second, what the hell…you know I’m vegetarian.
It dawns on me that for whatever reason the blood, juices etc of a dead animal aren’t meat in her eyes. It also dawns on me that this is her power play. I avoid the subject and avoid the vegetables. Eventually she can’t leave well enough alone and has to call my attention to the succulent vegetables bathed in gravy that she’s left over my tiny tapas plate.
I told her that I’m vegetarian and she knows this, and I’m not at the stage where I am going to start eating meat again. At that exact second, she plops some escargot into my open mouth.
I know that her perfect match was a man who ate everything she did, loved going to posh elite restaurants etc. But I felt like we had a lot in common besides that, and if she gave me time I might come around to her line of thinking. But not on the third date.
And at that second where I incredulously sat there with snail in my mouth and my mum’s polite training kicking in, I didn’t spit it out. But her chances with me might as well have been.