“I’ve decided to take that final step,” Ryan said on the phone. “I’m officially going vegan.”

“Good for you,” I said, happy for his decision. “So, that means no dairy, eggs or anything, right?”

“No pasta, no bread, no fish, no chicken, no sugar, no cake…” His list went on and on and on…

I sat with the phone to my ear and nodded as he went on about his new diet and lifestyle.

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After the weekend we spent together, I realized that, yeah, he is totally what I need in my life. I was happy being with him and happy that I have him in my life, even though he lives an hour away and that complicates things a bit. Our hectic lives complement each other’s and we respect each other’s space and our decision to see other people. We care about each other, and when we’re together, as Fred Schneider sang in “Strobe Light”, “I feel electricity in the air.”

But then, *BA BAM*, he throws a doozy like this at me. I knew he was transforming into a positive thinking and clean living individual. And I knew he was heading toward that slightly cuckoo [making a circular motion with my index finger around my ear] kinda thought process. And I knew he was cutting out meat, alcohol and dairy out of his diet for a number of reasons. But VEGAN??? I didn’t think he was going to get that militant on me… not this soon.

To the detriment of my poor heart and arteries, I’m a meat eater… a carnivore… a devourer of carcass. I have a bloodlust for animal flesh… be it a steak, a chop, a breast or a sausage. I can’t eat a meal without at least one kind of meat involved.

Yeah, I hate cruelty to animals and I feel that even modern slaughterhouses are barbaric and should be outlawed. But I’m a hypocrite because I spend lots of overtime mulling over the choicest cuts of beef in the meat section of the local grocer. I salivate over a big slab of an animal’s bloody midsection. I have a hard time deciding if I should get a 6oz. or a 12oz. prime rib.

So what’s going to happen when I go to visit and we need to eat?

He’s not critical of my eating habits. He’s critical of other people’s eating habits, but he never makes me feel uncomfortable or guilty for ordering a 16oz porterhouse… he doesn’t glare at me unhappily as I gnaw on the leg bone of the disemboweled chicken on my plate… he doesn’t snub his nose as I gently cut a sliver of flesh from the deep fried whole red snapper over a bed of saffron rice. He’s respectful to me like that.

But if he lived here and we saw each other every day like most “normal” couples do who live in the same city, I could see our eating habits would need some major adjustment. I don’t have to change my everyday diet… only when one of us visits. And believe me, I’d want to go to a vegan paradise like Zen Palate with the same gusto as he would have if I brought him to Jimmy’s House of Steak. Not. At. All.

This seems like a minor issue… and it is, especially since our meals together tend to happen while we IM one another(”Hey, so, whatcha eating?”, “Oh, I’m chewing on a piece of broccoli,” I’d type while really chewing on a pork chop). But will we even have breakfast together? Or will I just say, “I’m not hungry” and snack on a beef jerky while he’s in the shower?

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“So, what about alcohol?”

“I’m not having any of that either,” he replied, almost gleefully. “I could have a glass of organic wine, but that tastes terrible.”

“Oh, ok,” I said, stoically. No alcohol? No candy???? I wondered to myself. The beer I can do without. The candy, I don't think so.