Mr. Vegetarian.

I tried to date a vegetarian who drives a Prius for a few weeks.

It didn’t work out.

Aside from the fact that he would insist on sharing plates whenever we ate dinner (and that made me the carnivorous psychopath in me want to order meat even more), he was one of the Nice Guys. He taught special education to 8th graders. I work in advertising and help deliver you display ads that you don’t want on your webpages, and I am also writing about this nice guy on an anonymous dating blog. There is probably a special place in Heaven for people like him and a special place in Hell for people like me.

But he was also a 31-year-old who “temporarily” lived with his parents because he was “condo-hunting”. He claimed he temporarily lived in the guesthouse. Turned out, he lived in a bedroom above the garage that had a doorway with no door. My friends theorized that perhaps he did something bad and his mom took the door away to punish him.

At the end of the day, don’t trust a male vegetarian. Or do, just stand your ground and order a gosh darn steak because that’s what you really want.

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