THE 30-Year-OLD-vegan
i am a vegan. i am 30.
So does that mean I'm a proper grown up now? Do I have to be?
30. My fourth decade. A fine and noble time of life. That said, it's a bit of a shock to the system when it finally comes around: when dying your hair is more Just For (Wo)Men than just for fun, and that nagging creak in your knees takes on a more sinister tone. And suddenly you realise you ought to have a career by now. Like, with prospects and stuff. You don't have a pension? Man. What have you been doing all these years?
But so it is. And so, here I am: still a vegan after 11 years and a 30th birthday. A bit of a lost soul looking for direction and inspiration. And a damn good restaurant where I can choose from three courses and to hell with the statement 'does it come with cheese on it?'.
Join me. And if you know where a slightly unhinged thirtysomething with dairy and egg aversion tendencies can find a gateway to freedom or the key to lasting happiness - or a lifetime's supply of vegan mayonnaise - feel free to throw me a bone. Not a real one, though. The Vegan Police would be over that horizon and after me quicker than you could say Rice Milk.
