My daughter had her fifth birthday party today, and the party was lovely. Little G was even more lovely, but since my family is almost nonexistent at this point, most of the guests were from her father’s side of the genetic pool.

The ex’s family is descended from butchers, quite literally, and Little G’s grandfather, who actually worked in the family meat-packing plant, was grilling the party burgers. He and his wife never could grasp the concept of what vegetarian means, so years ago I told them, “It simply means that I don’t eat meat.” Still, every time we suppered at their abode, I was told variants of the following: “It’s a good thing I fixed fish/chicken/pork for dinner, since you’re a vegetarian.”

Sigh.

On this day, I was forced to be diplomatic as they steered me towards the “vegetarian” turkey burgers. I decided to wait for the birthday cake instead.