Tofu or not tofu? That's not the question

One of my colleagues, omnivorous canines wrapped around a juicy side of cow, pauses, flicks a fatty finger in my direction and asks the question that 94%* of all men ask when faced with a vegan of the male persuasion:

"You're not going to give it up forever though are you?"

He smirks:

"Is Karen* making you do it?"

And he finishes (the steak and his pronouncement) with:

"Bet I could get you eating meat again."

In some sepia-toned daydream, Gary** and I are writhing on a double bed festooned
with oily McDonald's wrappers and those shitty cardboard sheaths they slide the
chips into, shoving cheap burgers into our faces and licking meat juice off each
others' fingers.

Gary is nodding knowingly as I tuck another lump of brown gristle into my gob.
"I knew you'd give in," he whispers. "You're all the same."

Except we're not all the same are we, Gary?! Some of us are different. And that's ok.

If there's one thing I want you to take away from this deranged fat-filled fantasy, it's that we're all different, and we can make up our own minds. That's where we begin.

*My wife isn't actually called Karen. I can't decide if I used the name Karen just now to keep my wife's real identity secret or because I'm suggesting Gary** called her that to make some kind of point.

**I don't have any friends called Gary. No one does.