Car windows are see through...no matter how much I'd like to believe they aren't.

Blame it on the tofu.

I've always tried to be careful about what I do when I'm in the car because I know people can see me when I'm driving.  (Well, except when a Rick Springfield song comes on, then I'm not responsible for how I look or sound to the outside world.)  However, yesterday I completely forgot my own rule about behaving myself when on the road.  And I blame tofu.

See, for the past two weeks Hubby and Peaches have been slowly but surely turning me into a vegetarian.  Playing on my lack of desire to cook, Peaches picks out a recipe and Hubby cooks it.  And it's delicious.  Thursday night they made something involving fried polenta and a mushroom ragu.  I have no idea what I was eating, all I know is it was yummy and would have been great with a steak.

But after two weeks' worth of vegetarian meals and two weeks' worth of lunches involving peanut butter and jelly  (because I'm also too lazy to shop for deli meats apparently) I realized that I was exhausted at work NOT because I stay up all hours of the night watching crap TV with the kids or waiting for Skippy to come home from where ever he's been  (and wait for a blog on that tomorrow.)  but because I have not had any MEAT.

So yesterday, after a hearty lunch of grocery store sushi, I was STARVING for some MEAT.  Hubby picked me up from work and told me we had to stop at this cute little grocery store on the way home to pick up a few things for a dinner he and Peaches were planning.  Something called Sesame Tofu with Mung Bean Pasta.

I don't hear STEAK or CHICKEN in that title.

Wandering around this really trendy, pricey grocery store looking for vegetarian items  (I knew we were in trouble because the only tofu they had was ORGANIC tofu.)  I smelled something that made my mouth water beyond control.

Chicken.  Cooked, breaded, fried chicken.  The grocery store's claim to fame was its chicken and I didn't have to walk past the deli counter too often to decide I was going to buy some.  I WAS GOING TO EAT SOME MEAT.  So I grabbed a number and waited to be called.  I had them bag up two legs and a thigh...you know, because Hubby also looked hungry.

We weren't even in the car when I tore into the first piece.  It was so good, all juicy and hot.  The skin...and when did I last have chicken skin?...was crispy and perfectly seasoned.  I didn't care that my fingers glistened with the delectable juices...I was eating MEAT.

As I was gnawing the last bit of sweet bird flesh from the bone, Peaches sent a text that she wasn't going to be home for dinner because she was going to a friend's house.

Well, vegetarian delights postponed to tomorrow.

Gleefully, I dove in for the second piece.  There's nothing more glorious, I think, than the feel of a perfectly cooked chicken leg in your hands.

I beheaded two of my wives
far less egregious sins
than the ones Sarah committed
against good manners.

"Did you want this other piece?"  I asked Hubby, who was driving and trying really hard not to laugh out loud at the site of his wife eating a chicken leg like Henry VIII in the middle of a drunken feast.   

"No, "  he said, "You go ahead.  Then you've had dinner and I'll finish the leftovers from last night."

Hey, warmed over polenta for you...more chicken for me.

With all the regal manners of a convict I tossed the leg bone into the bag and drew out the third piece of chicken.  It was then, as my starvation was starting to slake, that I became aware of my surroundings. 

This is what I looked like in my mind.

We were at a stoplight.  I was in a sort of reclining position, my gut hanging into my lap.  Looking down I realized that, as it typically happens with me, my chest was acting as a shelf, holding up bits of skin and meat that had fallen from my mouth onto myself.  The people in the car stopped next to us were staring at me and laughing.

"What are you looking at?"  I shouted through the skin, bits of chicken spattering with my words, "I'm hungry!  My family is trying to turn me into a vegetarian and I need meat!"

I think the kid in the back seat was scared then.  I'm almost positive the mother, at the wheel, comforted the child by saying something like, "Oh I'm sure that big lady is going back to the group home where she lives honey.  She won't get you.  But remember Timmy...healthy diet and exercise is key to avoiding that poor woman's fate."



This is a bit closer to what the rest of the world saw.



I slumped lower in my seat and gnawed on the bone until it was bare, then licked my fingers clean.  Only then did I, with great daintiness, pick the bits of chicken off my shirt and eat that as well so that by the time we arrived home, I was full and happy...if somewhat greasy.

As we got out of the car, Hubby didn't comment much on the grease marks that dotted my shirt.  All he said was this:

"So this would be blog worthy, right?"