For the last 18 months or so, Julie devoted herself to a strict dietary code. Well, not as strict as vegan, or even vegetarian, and certainly not as militant as fruitarian. But strict. She was off cow.
It was something about the environmental impact of McDonald's hamburgers (which come from cows, allegedly) being greater than the weight of the actual burgers. Sheesh, people, it's the rain forests! Didn't you watch An Inconvenient Truth? If you eat red meat, your carbon footprint is like one of Shaquille O'Neal's steel-toed Sorels.
So one day Julie put on her best Al Gore stern face and proclaimed that she would eat red meat no more. And worldwide, cows rejoiced.
The other day, however, our friends Claire and Ethan, parents of a two-month-old charmer named William, served us French-dip roast beef sandwiches with Boar's Head roast beef, otherwise known as the good stuff. Without a bang, a whimper, or even a shrug, Julie was back on cow. We didn't even mention it to them. They'll read here, for the first time, that their serpentine hands offered this forbidden beef from the bovine of knowledge.
I would like to publicly thank them. Seriously. Pregnancy is not a good time to be off cow. Last night, Julie ordered an Angus beef cheeseburger and devoured it like a champ. She's back. Let the cows cower.
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