Beware post-vegan eating

I hated the day I decided to wear one of my favorite pair of jeans—a light blue slim-legged GAP pair that was part of an ensemble some sales guy had created for me months earlier. I put my right foot in and then my left and then pulled the pants up. And then I think I made this noise that was a cross between a gasp and a panic attack. It felt like I was making sausage and those jeans were the natural casing. Of course, I had no idea how to make sausage at the time, because I had been vegan for so long, but the analogy seemed good. The pants were tight in the thighs. Worse yet, the zipper barely went up all the way, and—GASP—I could not shove the button into its hole no matter how hard I coaxed it. Button, why don’t you want to go there? You’ll like it—it’s what you’re made for! But, no matter how much I sucked in my gut, the pants showed their choice: if the doughnuts were coming with me, then the jeans were staying behind.

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