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“Do you follow football?” she cooed, fluttering fake eyelashes. Strangely, there were glittery rhinestones attached to her falsies, and as the woman blinked, one dangled precariously before dropping into her food. Oh my god, oh my god. It winked in the light, everyone watching horrified as the girl jabbered on clueless.
“I love the Tennessee Titans,” she simpered again. “They’re so fast and furious this season.”
Please, girl. You just had a rhinestone drop into your food. Plus, it’s clear you’d rather roll in mud than toss a football and risk chipping a nail. But still, Stacy kept going on and on, reciting this and that with the rest of us immobile.
Because the woman must have gotten up early this morning to comb through Google and search stats or something. She was tossing out names of players, teams and scores like she had her own fantasy football team. Part of me started to feel a little impressed by her dedication to get a guy’s attention. Unfortunately for her, her targets seemed bored with the stream of stats. Didn’t Cosmo tell you when to put a lid on it? The blonde hadn’t paused for a breath, let alone to let anyone else get a word in.
But Stacy wasn’t the only one. Linda was just as bad, even worse truth be told. The redhead kept looking over at Mason, Tyler and Kane, and dissolving into helpless giggles like we were in a junior high cafeteria. I felt embarrassed just being in her presence. Literally, she kept stealing glances at the three men and then giggling behind her hand, like a little girl with a big secret.
But these were just two stars of the show. Because the other ladies were twirling their hair and batting their lashes like they had nervous tics. Or maybe some of them actually were epileptics with a certain type of light sensitivity? I dunno, this was such a weird scenario.
Realizing there was nothing I could do, I dug into my steak and quietly ate. The other bridesmaids ordered salads for their meal, but trust me to buck the trend. As a magazine editor, I make good money, but unfortunately, steak isn’t on my menu most nights, or even most weeks. It’s a treat to be savored, and I wasn’t gonna let this opportunity pass me by.
So with my fork poised, I was just about to savor another bite when Tyler rumbled.
“I see you like red meat.”
My face flushed. It was true. The meat was really red, even a little bloody. A lot of people would find this gross and even barbaric.
“Yes,” I muttered, putting my fork down. “Yes, I eat red meat.”
But the voice inside spoke again. No more dithering! it scolded. You’re a grown woman, act like it! Be proud of who you are and your choices.
So I straightened my shoulders and looked up, eyes direct.
“I know I shouldn’t eat red meat because it’s supposedly bad for your cholesterol with a lot of fat. But it’s a special occasion, so I figured I’d indulge.”
Mason raised a brow at my straightforward words.
“Do you eat like this all the time?”
Embarrassed, I mumbled something incoherent again. Because maybe I didn’t eat red meat all the time, but the larger question was obvious: Do I love to eat, in general? And the answer was a resounding yes. Indulgence is my middle name. I love ice cream, pastries, cheese, and anything with a lot of calories. Even worse, I love the things that girls aren’t supposed to love. Burgers. Steak. Onion rings and fries with ketchup all over. I love it all, and dropped my head shamefaced at the admission.
But the men weren’t letting me get away with it.
“Speak up honey, we can’t hear you,” growled the third groomsman named Kane.
So taking a deep breath, I forced myself to buck up. It was too late to hide, and my gaze met his directly.
“Yes, I eat meat, dairy, and just about everything. I know it’s not popular, but it’s not against the law either. I enjoy it,” I said simply. “Food is something to be savored and treasured, eating’s not a chore or a drag.”
Around the table a hushed gasp arose as the other girls stared at me in shock. Every single one of them was stick thin and had ordered only salad, with dressing on the side. Their plates looked so miserable with a couple scraggly piece of lettuce and saggy-looking tomatoes, limp and unappetizing.
Within seconds, Stacy started to berate me.
“Katie, you shouldn’t eat like that,” she scolded. “It’s totally bad for you and damaging to the environment too. Plus, those poor cows suffer when they are slaughtered, didn’t you know? They cry. They cry big, fat tears just like a human.”
Rachelle jumped in then.
“Not to mention what it does to your body,” she said snidely, eyeing my curvaceous frame. “Eating all that shit makes you put on weight, didn’t you know? Look at yourself. You’ve got to know. Plus, it’s weight you can never get off, permanent poundage.”
That was a lie. There’s no such thing as permanent poundage, it was a fictitious term coined by snake oil salesmen trying to sell diet products.
So I shook my head.
“No, I don’t think so,” came my reply, voice coming from far away. “Everything in moderation is my motto. I try to maintain a healthy diet that’s balanced, which includes all the food groups. And that means meat, fat and sugar, too.”
A horrified gasp rose from the ladies at the table. I swear, they could be a Greek chorus, it was so predictable.
