Back in the day, Fartbuster went through a vegetarian phase. It didn’t really work out the way he had planned it. As one of our coworkers put it, “Don’t get me wrong, but you’re the BIGGEST vegetarian I’ve ever seen.” Basically, we just replaced meat that we had been eating with an equivalent portion of cheese and gained a bunch of weight. But this was back when he was being all Zen so I guess he didn’t mind looking like the Buddha.
That year on Christmas Day, we went to Pop and Grandmama Irene’s house for breakfast–homemade biscuits with blackberry jelly, scrambled eggs, chow chow, and red link sausages from that little gas station up the highway in Brooks. Deeeee lish.
We’re all fixing our plates and filling coffee cups and passing bowls around. Grandmama looks over Fartbuster’s plate of eggs and biscuits and says, “There’s plenty of sausages. Get some.” She holds the bowl out to him. He tells her “No, thanks” and keeps on eating.
A couple of minutes later, she says, “I’ve got more on the stove, go on and have some sausage if you want.” He got kind of nervous at all the attention and stammered, “Oh, I’m OK, I’m fine.” Grandmama Irene pops my grandfather on the arm and says, “Dick! Pass him the sausages!” But Pop had his hearing aids on the “holiday” setting. Off.
Finally, my mom cuts in and say, “Mama! He doesn’t EAT sausage! He’s a vegetarian.”
Grandmama throws her hands up in the air and huffs, “Well why didn’t anybody tell me? I could have made HAM.”