Since mid-January, I've eaten no meat. It hasn't, actually, been as hard as I imagined it would be, and I've already been to two BBQs and the state of Texas.
Last Saturday, my resolve was tested. We were out to dinner at Song -- me and five other people -- and had drunk two bottles of wine already while waiting for our table. Finally, our Friday hangover was a thing of the past.
Appetizers were ordered, and when the summer rolls came, I popped a sushi-sized piece in my mouth, just as J. said "But those have CHICKEN."
I tried to say, "Oh!" back, but, you know, there was a whole meat-containing thing in my mouth. By now, the other five people at the table were staring at me. Uh. My eyes started bugging out. The weird thing is, no one had any suggestions. No one said "Oh, just eat it." Or, "Spit it out." Time passed. I got sick of breathing through my nose, and my cheeks chipmunked out.
Finally I realized that spitting it out into my napkin would be disgusting. And while I didn't care that much about accidentally eating meat, at this point that started to seem gross too. So I ran to the bathroom (it was fortunately both out of order & unlocked) and spit it out. I'm pretty sure everyone back at the table was grossed up at my near-bulimia, except for J, who thought I should have just mother-birded the summer roll.