so it seems I’ve been invited to attend my 20th high school reunion this summer, and I’ve been asked to speak in my official capacity as a member of the Meat Advisory Board.

(sigh) So… I’m being dragged back into the life I’ve worked so hard to escape; Meat.

I thought I’d left Meat far behind, and these days I hardly ever think about my Big Meat lifestyle anymore, but I knew this day would come.

So I climbed into my attic and opened that old box, and took out the advisory binders, the pamphlets, the cattlemen branded rolodex cardfiler…

There it was, same as it was so long ago. safe handling guidelines, cooking directions, storage strictures, phone numbers of questionable people who I’d once used as sources of rare flavorings and tenderizers. Even a soft plush Meatie doll, which could easily double as a pink pillow if it weren’t for the Styrofoam tray and cellophane wrapping.

I carried them all down and lay them out upon the bed next to the invitation to my reunion.

I’ll admit my heart raced at the chance to once again speak before a crowd on the dangers of cross-contamination and the virtues of steak and pork tenderloin. I paced back and forth for minutes, crossing and uncrossing my arms, imagining cold animal flesh draped across my open and willing palms. I reorganized the binders, half-planning my agenda, but….

No.

No, I will not do it again. I made my peace long ago, and I’d vowed I would never lose another friend to Meat; I’d go as a civilian if I went at all.

In no time I’d tossed all my Meat paraphernalia back into the box from whence it had come, closd the attic and went downstairs to eat dinner with my family.

As I looked across the table at my little girls, I happily considered that they would have no memories of their father the Meat man, that they’d never know the fear that Daddy might not make it home tonight because he’s out on a dangerous speaking engagement.

My knife sliced through the breaded pork chop, and I dipped another fork-full into the apple sauce.