Yesterday, I wrote about my affinity for eating animals. I wasn't always like this.
Once, I was much more in touch with the Universe. I was dating an herbalist (of sorts). He believed in the awesome powers of botany and loved all of G*d's furry creatures. He wore hemp jewelry and abhorred people who wore fur and leather. He bought unbleached toilet paper. He had a magic stone that he rubbed under his arms in an attempt to neutralize his natural pungent body odor, which was reminiscent of cat urine.
He began to encourage me to adopt some of his natural ways. I grew accustomed to drinking my water at room temperature. I cut refined sugars out of my diet. I bought cruelty free hair and body products. I even started taking the pill because I don't want to have the weight of contributing unnecessary latex to landfills.
Together, we gave up red meat. Then, we cut out poultry and later, fish. Dairy products were the next to be eliminated from our diets. We stopped eating honey, not wanting to exploit the labor of bees. We even stopped doing it doggy style so as not to offend canine beings.
All this was strangely okay with me. I recognized that his refusal to blow his nose so as not to disrupt a colony of bacteria in his sinuses was a bit odd, but I was blinded by malnutrition and high on his special herbal concoctions. We might still be together if he had not found a pair of snakeskin heels in my closet.
He was disgusted with me and the carcasses of animals that I wore on my feet. I argued that animals are natural and protective not to mention fashionable. He gave me an ultimatum; I had a choice, synthetic man-made shoes or he walked out in his Birkenstocks.
I chose shoes. He called me a murderer.
I reminded him that arsenic is natural.
We broke up. I went shoe shopping.