I’m in favor of healthy living, in theory. Nonetheless, I enjoy meat too much to go the vegetarian route. And after this morning’s experience, I know I could never emulate my friend’s version of a vegan, all-natural, holistic lifestyle.
I’ve known Amy since college. Back then, she was already a strict vegan who refused to wear leather or fur and limited herself to homeopathic treatments. Nor have her lifestyle views changed since those days. Long ago, she became the queen of fresh vegetable smoothies, supplemented by a variety of healthy but noxious natural additives. She’s also remained a staunch opponent of all pharmaceutical remedies.
These days, Amy lives in a suburb of Phoenix, with her husband Dave and the family’s newest addition. At the advanced age of forty-four, she became pregnant for the first time. She gave birth two days ago – at home, without painkillers, and with only a midwife beside her.
About a month ago, I’d subpoenaed a witness for a deposition in Phoenix. It’s scheduled for tomorrow. Back then, Amy insisted I stay at her house, not realizing she’d deliver her baby the night before I flew in. Despite the changed circumstances, she and Dave refused to relegate me to a hotel.
Upon my arrival, Dave apologized in advance for their anticipated lack of hospitality, adding: “Richard, since things are a bit crazy around here, we want you to treat this place like your own. Help yourself to anything you need, and don’t bother asking permission.”
I took Dave at his word. When I entered their deserted kitchen this morning and noticed one of Amy’s patented vegetable smoothies in the blender, I helped myself. I tasted carrots, bell peppers and tomatoes for sure, yet I couldn’t identify another flavor permeating the mix. It wasn’t awful, per se, but it carried a tang somewhat reminiscent of liver (which I’m not a fan of). Of course, the ingredient couldn’t have been liver, because Amy’d never let animal flesh pass her lips.
After swallowing a full glass, I sat down to read the morning paper. That’s when I noticed a document resting beside it. As I grabbed the sheet, Dave entered, walked to the blender, and greeted me: “Richard, if you can wait, I’m going to take this up to Amy and then whip up a fresh ‘jumbo juice’ for breakfast.” Upon spotting the page I held, he continued: “I’m glad you saw the recipe before you accidentally drank Amy’s ‘special cocktail.’ Lucky break, since I didn’t have a chance to warn you.”
As Dave headed upstairs with his wife’s custom beverage, I belatedly peeked at the recipe used to create it … and promptly regurgitated the drink onto their kitchen table. Apparently, even my iron constitution couldn’t stomach the thought of “Placenta Cocktail,” featuring ¼ cup of fresh, raw placenta!