hamburger hater

i have a confession to make. you're going to respond like everyone else when i say this, so i'm prepared to accept your dismayed gasp, but i want you to understand. this is just who i am. i was born this way, and i will always be this way, so please just love and accept me as i am. yes, the rumors you may have heard are true: i, rachel morgan, am a hamburger hater.

i know what you're thinking - i must be out of my mind, i'm a disgrace to the human population, i'm so evil that i probably eat babyburgers instead of hamburgers, blah blah blah - but just hear me out. i have never had a hambuger. ever. in my life. ever. (nor have i had a babybuger. i sniffed at one once, but decided the aroma was alltogether too sweet for my taste). allow me to explain...

before rachel morgan was even a glint in her parents' eye, poppa b and momma b were some serious hippies. they lived in sin, traveled the country in a van, lived in a tepee, wore native american jewelery, did things that i'm certain they don't want mentioned here, had long scraggly hair and were, of course, vegetarians. by the time little baby rachel morgan came screaming (for ice cream, magic nursery dolls and patent-leather mary janes) into their lives, momma and poppa b were eating poultry and fish, but they hadn't strayed from their "peace and love" roots enough to bring home the beef (or pork or lamb for that matter).

therefore, little rachel morgan and her little brother b were raised knowing the taste-bud-tempting of turkey, the caresses of chicken and the delight of duck, but there wasn't a sliver of steak or a piece of pepperoni to be found in their lives. rachel morgan knew that her eating habits made her different than the other kids at school, who excitedly ordered up hamburger after hamburger. but she didn't care; she held her high, ordered a chicken sandwich, and went to town.

years later, when little brother b was in junior high, he was a scrawny little thing. his arms looked like toothpicks, ready to snap, and his beautiful long blonde hair made him look like a delicate little princess of a girl (seriously, he was so adorable, and i always took evil delight when people would ask my parents how old their "daughters" were). momma and poppa b had only one solution: he needed to beef up with some red meat.

so one day, momma and poppa b brought home some nice, thick, juicy steaks. horrified, rachel morgan watched her onetime poultry-loving mother tenderly tenderize the meat. she sat aghast, watching the bloody juice drip down her parents and brother's happily carnivorous chins. when they waved a chunk of meat past her nose, rachel morgan said "no way" (it smelled worse than the babyburger), and ate her turkey dog in solitude.

as she grew older, more and more people tried to tempt rachel morgan to give in to her carnal impulses, but she always stood her ground firmly. the dreaded red never passed her lips (except on one drunken occasion on which she mistakenly took a meatball to be a chocolate ball of deliciousness. its an easy mistake to make if you drink enough, trust me. and in case you were wondering, she didn't swallow), and rachel morgan always explained that she was just not interested. it was just who she was.

well, that's my story. it feels so nice to get that off my chest, and finally be out and proud about my distaste for beef. I LOVE CHICKEN! i could scream it from the rooftops. save a cow, eat a chicken.

1 comment:

jackie said...

yup, you are being you - stubborn and boastful. like a friend of mine that's never had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

be that unique sparkle that you are, rachel morgan. i love you for it.