When my boyfriend told me he was becoming a vegetarian, I’m not ashamed to say I cried. (Well, look, I am a tiny bit ashamed to say it, but let’s not dwell on it. I was tired. My iron intake was probably dangerously low).
I just couldn’t stop thinking about the meals. Oh, the meals we’d miss out on!
Goodbye, Hurricanes (our favourite place for ribs). Goodbye, Sydney Meat and Wine Co (our favourite place for steak). Goodbye, McDonalds (our favourite place for dirty late-night chicken nuggets).
GOODBYE, NACHO NIGHT! GOODBYE FOREVER!
We’d have to cook different meals. I wouldn’t be allowed to eat spaghetti bolognese in the house. This was just the first step on a slippery slope to veganism, and soon, he’d refuse to put milk in my tea and we’d have fights about whether owning a cat was animal cruelty.
In short, this was the end.
It turns out, I probably overreacted. Living with a vegetarian isn't the end of the world. It's actually almost exactly like living with a normal person, with a few obvious exceptions.
1. The farting.
Oh, the farting.