Out of the Meat Locker and Into The Night

I’ve established that Oldest Daughter is in New York City at the moment, living the dream, seeing the hookers, thinking that eating canned beans and ramen for a life of art is better than a cello scholarship.

Art is good, honey, just don't get Sid and Nancy artsy.

(BTW, Gary Oldman is CRAZY good in this 1986 movie.)

Yesterday on my drive home, I was debating with myself if sending her to The Big City was the best idea, (because it’s really best to keep your children in the dark and make them conform to your agenda for them – hello! That’s why we have therapists, people!) and then I had an epiphany: Oh My God, she’s gone! We can openly eat MEAT!

 OD is a vegetarian, but not for ethical reasons – she honestly doesn’t seem to like animals that much – but because it grosses her out. The texture, the look, the taste, it’s just not her thing. Not caring about animals much doesn’t keep her from freaking out a little bit when we eat meat. She doesn’t want the platter of pork chops near her plate, she can’t stand the sight of ground beef, and she had kittens the night I put a whole roasted chicken on the table. Don’t misunderstand, these reactions don’t stop me from putting meat in front of her, we just have to listen to her complain about it. But not last night.

Me at the store in my favorite cap.

I drove to the store and bought all kinds of red meat. Last night I browned two pounds of hamburger and made walking tacos, and the smell of post-cow wafted through the house. I put the entire skillet of meat on the table, and the rest of my family sat down and ate walking tacos in peace. And they were delicious. At this very moment I have a crock pot of beef stew going, and I will savor its red-meatiness without having to listen to how gross it is. I think I’ll accompany my stew with a glass of red wine to really savor the carnivorousness of it all.  Sweet meat freedom.


UPDATE - I get home from work and walk in the door and get bitch-slapped in the face with the smell of burned stew.  HELLO!  CAN NO ONE IN THIS HOUSE SMELL BURNED MEAT?  It turns out that with OD in NYC and YD at a friend's house, there are two men and a dog in the house.  Of COURSE no one can smell it.  I open the crock pot, and apparently I cannot Fix It and Forget It, for it will burn.  I have been a bad wife, because my crocking is full of coal.  But do I panic?  Oh hell no.  I get the boys in the car and drive to Granite Cityfor a meaty sandwich and to join their Mug Club.
 

Delicious.  After my mug, the boys drive me home, and I talk them into watching Breaking Dawn, Part 1 with me.  (Do not test me, I'll get you to watch a Twilight movie.  Your lion WILL fall in love with my lamb, baby.)  They complain about it the whole time, and when it's over talk about how bad it is, and then say, "We'll go with you when Part 2 comes out in the theater." 
I got my meat, my icy cold mug, my sparkly vampire.  We're going to put this one in the WIN column.