The next morning, a Saturday, Lara made buttermilk cinnamon raisin waffles slathered with real maple syrup. Benson couldn’t eat the waffles because they weren’t vegan. He ate cold cereal with soy milk and peaches.
During my second helping of waffles, Lara gave me this look that told me I needed to bring up the matter of Benson looking for a job.
“So what’s cooking on the job front?” I said.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” he said. “I got a job with Redondo Rescue.” It was an adoption agency for dogs and cats rescued from shelters. I was familiar with Redondo Rescue and had had an annoying interaction with its founder, an unctuous, bearded man named Robert who called himself a “life coach,” which from my standpoint was pseudo career embraced by charlatans and other unsavory characters. It was my impression that Robert used his rescue center for networking. He had licenses for selling real estate and life insurance. Several years ago, I went to his adoption center looking for a dog, but he spent most of our time trying to sell me a life insurance policy, so I left and went across town to South Bay Rescue where I got our dog, a timid Finnish Spitz named Gretchen.
Trying to be careful with my words, I looked at Benson and said, “Isn’t that a volunteer job?”
“Right. I work for free, caring for the animals and transporting them from the shelters to the adoption center. But Robert said he could hook me up with something. He said it was just a matter of time.”
Lara then said, “So this is a stepping stone to a real job.”
“Yeah,” Benson said, “A real job. Though I have you know my passion is fighting for the animals, so whatever kind of paying job I eventually get, my real job will be working for Robert.”
Benson watched me as I downed my second glass of milk. He said, “That is soy milk, I hope.”
“No,” I said. “It’s cow’s milk. Nonfat.”
“That is disgusting. Do you know what kind of squalid conditions dairy cows suffer for your cow milk addiction?”
“Graham can’t drink soy milk,” Lara said. “Too much soy will elevate his estrogen levels. So don’t push soy milk on him.”
“That’s no reason to consume cow’s milk,” Benson said. “It’s not even digestible.”
“I digest it fine,” I said. “I’m very tolerant of lactose.”
I knew Benson was lactose intolerant. Most of his vegan friends claimed some intolerance or allergy to lactose, gluten, eggs, shellfish, chocolate. Sometimes I speculated that they were so resentful for being unable to eat a certain food that they wanted to prohibit the rest of the human race from eating it as well.
Benson said, “I want you to see some new video footage I have of cows on the dairy farms. Squalid conditions. Diseased cows left untreated. Some cows getting squashed to death. Consuming dairy is indefensible.”
“Sorry, Benson, I can’t go off dairy. I need the protein and calcium.”
“Get yourself a soy protein supplement.”
“Can’t do it. Didn’t you hear what Lara said? All that soy will soak my system with estrogen. It’s bad enough that I eat those soy burgers. I’m not going to make it worse by ingesting a soy protein supplement.”
Lara perked up and looked at me. She said, “You didn’t tell me you were still eating soy burgers.”
“Just two a day.”
“Jesus, Graham, that’s a lot of soy. We’re trying to have a baby here. I’m taking Ovidrel, progesterone suppositories, Clomid. If I can do all this bullshit, the least you could do is go off soy.”
As Lara had warned me, the Clomid made her volatile. I needed to nip the bud right there, so I nodded obsequiously, walked to the freezer, and discarded the remaining two boxes of soy burgers into the garbage. Then I looked at Benson and said, “She right. The science just doesn’t support a vegan diet, especially for a middle-aged dude with motility issues.”
“So you’re using science to justify being a barbarian toward other animals.”
“If that’s your definition of a barbarian, then for now I will have to concede that title.” I then looked down at Benson’s canvas shoes and said. "Of course, you'll have to concede that you too are a barbarian. Those shoes of yours were made by Indonesian slave girls who are unlikely to ever see their parents again. And you aided and abetted their masters. Join the Barbarian Club, bro, because in real life we all make compromises. Moral absolutes don't exist."
“That is so weak, using two wrongs to make a right. Even if these crappy old shoes were made by slaves—and I doubt they were—you have no right to inflict cruelty against helpless animals.”
Lara stood up and said, “You guys need to cool it. I’m trying to get pregnant right now and I don’t need this kind of stress.”
Benson was about to say something, but I cut him off. “Benson, we’ll discuss this later—when Lara’s not here.”
Lara looked at me and said, “Thank you,” and then turning to Benson said, “Can you tone down this whole vegan thing with Graham? My husband really needs to eat red meat, now more than ever. And if you can’t deal with it, then you need to think about living somewhere else.”
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