Vegan for a Week
When I announced to my family at Tuesday night’s Leftover Dinner, that I decided to become vegan for a week, the room went silent, then erupted in laughter. Stunned, I protested that I could do it.
“You do realize that you attack the cholent at Kiddush at shul and constantly crave meant? You couldn’t do it,” my sister stated arrogantly. I glared at her, and then shoveled a piece of brisket, covered in ketchup into my mouth.
“You said that the smell of the grilling London Broil made you nearly pass out it smelled so good,” my mother remarked. I took a drink of water.
“And that means no ice cream,” my sister said. “Or milk in your coffee.”
“It’s one week. I so can do it.” I was determined.
Sunday, day one, finally arrived. I hopped out of bed, excited for my new challenge. I went downstairs for breakfast and scanned the pantry. Cereal… can’t have milk with it… peanut butter… on a spoon. Yum. Oatmeal… yuck. I turned to the fridge. Eggs? Nope… milk? Not allowed. I grabbed a banana and a glass of water.
“How’s it going so far?” my sister asked, her left eyebrow slightly raised in amusement.
“Jwust faboolos,” I responded, mouth full of banana mush. I took a drink of water, finished the yellow fruit and left the kitchen.
One meal down. A long way to go…