I don’t have a problem with what they eat—just as I don’t with the eating habits of omnivores or regular, run-of-the-mill vegetarians (like me). But I hate vegans’ smug, condescending approach to people who want to have their animals, and eat them too.
Consider a recent encounter in the East Village. Almost daily, I go for a long walk to look around New York and remind myself why I find it beautiful. One Sunday on Avenue A, a woman interrupted a phone conversation with my mother to hand me a pamphlet on vegetarianism. I waved her away—“Preaching to the converted,” I said. “Then you’ll need this,” she exclaimed and passed off a booklet on going vegan.
I just got 1UPed, herbivore-style. By a woman with dreads.
Aren’t human beings supposed to eat meat? Isn’t that why we have these damn canines? And while I don’t deny that there are major atrocities in the meat and dairy industry, I am not the one to address them. Ignorance is not excuse, but I’ve picked other battles.
I happen to like your potlucks, vegan, but these damn cupcakes are as full of your self-satisfied bullshit as you. Did you give me the chair so you’d get the soapbox? PETA already gave you a bad name; you don’t need to enforce it.
In this world of in-your-face Big Macs and sneaky beef stock, shouldn’t we of the leafy-green nature unite rather than proselytize? I wasn’t raised catholic: I don’t respond to guilt.