[I can’t take credit for the Salad is Murder thing – it was a postcard I purchased years ago in San Rafael. Unfortunately I can’t dig it up anywhere, so had to recreate it. Apologies to the original artist. Hers is WAY better.]

[Insert movie still from My Big Fat Greek Wedding here. Copyright paranoia, c’est moi.]

We eat meat. Not a whole bunch. Maybe two meals involve meat each week. We get a lot of protein from tofu, cheese, beans, and eggs. As a result, Z has never really had to think about where meat comes from, and we never really told her. “Hey kid, by the way, that’s Chicken Little you’re gobbling up right now.” Or, “Remember the cows in ‘Click Clack Moo’? Yum! That’ll teach ’em to go on strike!” Or, “Yup, that Olivia is a darling, and she makes FINE bacon!”

Not really the conversation we’ve been eager to have.

So the other day, we’re at the table, and I’m eating my DELICIOUS HAM AND CHEESE CROISSANT OH MY GOSH MUST GO BACK FOR MORE and somehow, it comes up. Meat. That it comes from animals.

And Z just giggling, and saying, “That isn’t right, that isn’t right!” and she means that we’re joking, we must be, because who would eat those cute little animals?

Well, we do, I guess. I’ve toyed with the idea of going vegetarian, or maybe restricting my meat consumption to fish. But nothing’s pushed me all the way in that direction…yet. Maybe Z will be the one to do it. (Fish as food doesn’t seem to bother Z at all – she has a Finding Nemo toy that did not make it into her stuffed friends drawer but went, instead, to her pretend food bin).

Because who wants to eat Olivia?! (Well, if Olivia’s in my ham and cheese croissant, the answer is: I do.)