In mid-July, I stopped eating meat. I still eat seafood and eggs, and might have accidentally eaten a candy bar or two made with animal rendered fat (ew) but as of July, I’m a pesco-vegetarian. For awhile anyway. My cholesterol is too high, diabetes runs in my family, and it’s something I’d been thinking about doing for awhile. Thing is, I plan to cheat. I don’t want to be an inconvenience—or, you know, a tool—so if somebody serves me meat, I’m not going to turn it down. If for whatever reason the occasion calls for it, I’ll suck it up and have a steak. At first I felt a little guilty about laying down stipulations for my quasi-vegetarianism, but then I realized that people do this kind of thing all the time. Some people never eat broccoli; there’s no special name for that.

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