Lost in Translation, part duh

So, I think I just ate a dead pig.

Again, if you know me at all, you know that’s far from the norm for me. In fact, with the exception of les poissons and the occasional turkey, I have avoided meat for the better part of 20 years, and pig for even longer. When I was a kid, I loved bacon and hot dogs. But once I was old enough to think about it, meat just grossed me out. Completely. Especially pork, with it’s pink, fatty texture.

So today, on our date afternoon at a local crêperie, I thought I was being bold ordering a crêpe which had sardines in it. I’m not a fan of sardines either, but I thought, you know, I’m here and it’s a local delicacy, I should take a risk. When I started eating it, I found the texture and taste a little off-putting, but just a little. Not enough to be a problem, just enough to know it was different than what I’m used to. It wasn’t until I offered David a bite and started fishing around in the crêpe to make sure he got all the tastes together that I saw the little pink pieces. They didn’t look like sardines.

And then I had to decide what to do. I couldn’t send it back—I had ordered it after all. I could have made David trade with me. He doesn’t eat meat either, but he’s less grossed out than I am. But instead, I chose to ignore the reality. I wouldn’t let him look up the word on his iPhone to discover what I was really eating. Instead I poured myself an extra large glass of cider (Normandie is cider country, and it is de rigeur with crêpes) and pretented I was eating sardines. And you know it’s pretty bad when you have to fantasize that, in reality, you are in fact eating sardines.

And that is actually one of the interesting things about being on this extended vacation—the frequency with which I am able to chose to ignore reality in favor of whatever benefits me most at the present moment. There’s probably some long term benefit in living this way. At least, that's what I’m telling myself in the present moment!