This is a true story. No embellishment. No histrionics.
Now the goose is on the table
And the pudding made of fig
And the blue and silver candles
That would just have matched the hair in grandma’s wig
Every great story has meat on a stick. This story is no exception. I love skewers.
Long story short, I’ve known my wife for seven years now. For most of those years we have traveled to her uncle’s for Christmas. The first time there we stayed in a Super 8 motel. Directly across the street was a strip mall with a restaurant excitingly labeled “Kabobs.”
I wanted to go. Bad.
Alas, my wishes were vetoed and quashed by She Who Must Be Obeyed. She said no. I think her exact words were something along the lines of, “We’re here to spend time with family. Not to eat damn kabobs.” Thus, it was decided. We didn’t go.
Amazingly we’re still together.
Over time my tears have become an integral part of our Christmas tradition.
Once, during the last six years, we actually drove over, due to my whining, to take a look. Of course the place was closed. I got to look longingly in the window and dream about alternate realities and what could have been.
Part of the problem is that we live in a small town where fancy things like kabobs can’t be had. If you love McDonald’s, well, that’s another story. We have four of them. And two Dairy Queens. And two Carl’s Jr. And 28 Mexican restaurants. Eight pizza places. More than a few burger joints. And, other than KFC, no real source for hot wings, either.
Then I went vegetarian. Viola! Overnight our little town suddenly had a place just for hot wings. That was literally all they did. If not for my recent conversion it would have been a dream come true. And a Mediterranean restaurant opened at the same time. And yes, they served kabobs.
Seriously. How can you reconcile those facts and not conclude that the Universe was seriously going way out of its way to fuck with me?
It was too much for this weak baby-like guru to handle. I eventually fell off the meat wagon.
On Sept. 11, 2011, I went back to being vegetarian. I picked that day for several reasons. First, it’s easy to remember. And second, it marks (to the day) the 10th anniversary of what I like to call my personal “Decade of Despair.” I was hired on Sept. 11, 2001, at ecommerce job #1 which was the official starting point for the worst decade of my life – so far.
That means I’ll have been a vegetarian (again) for about 3-1/2 months by the time Christmas 2011 dinner comes around. And you know what they say about what “comes around.”
Guess what the family came up with as this year’s dinner plan? I shit you not.
The plan is to get take out from “Kabobs” restaurant for Christmas Eve dinner!!!
I mean, seriously, who makes stuff like this happen? Even Edgar Allen Poe, M. Night Shyamalan and J.J. Abrams couldn’t think up something this dark and twisted. (The plots of Lost are way more believable!) I’d really like to know. This is really sick. I must have been quite the asshole in a previous life.
Sure, I acknowledge that my wife and I are throwing a wrench in the works of the festive mealtime planning. Who really wants vegetarians around during the holidays? There are serious meals that need to be eaten like gigantic golden brown turkeys, honey-baked hams, a goose on the table, etc. So the family was trying to come up with some creative solution to accommodate the vegetarian freaks that would be in their midst. For the record, my wife and I want them to enjoy their meat. We’re not trying to impose our choice on anyone else. But the Kabob restaurant? That’s like rubbing my nose in it. That hurts. Sure, they were only trying to help. “Hey, look. They have falafel.”
Disclosure: That really was the plan. However the restaurant is closed this Saturday so the plan is foiled. Whew. Close one. What’s Plan B? I can only guess. Probably something like Rancher Bob’s House of 42 Meats. Me? I’ll be the guy nibbling on the wheat germ and alpha sprout Mexi-wrap. Ole!