She stared across at me as I drooled over the pizza. It was covered in pepperoni, italian sausage, and bacon. Tomato sauce and grease sweated out of the cheese that blanketed the slice in a process not unlike osmosis.
Summer just glared at me, her jaw slack, her brow furrowed. I could see her vegetarian mind trying to process the degree of murder that went into the making of my lunch, and she was focusing on her ire.
"Why can't you eat vegetarian?" she said, hurt.
I, of course, had to speak. "Well, technically, I am eating vegetarian."
"how can you say that!? It's covered in pepperoni and sausage and-"
"Yeah. The cow was a vegetarian. The pig was a vegeterian. And so on, and so forth."
I thought she was going to kill me. Meat is murder, I guess.
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