My five year old sister is in denial about where meat comes from..

We were all sitting round the table eating pork, and my sister said "Can I have some more chicken?" to which she was corrected that is isn't chicken but pork. She asked the difference.

We explained that chicken comes from a bird and pork comes from a pig, just like lamb comes from a baby sheep... She thought we were bieng ridiculous "You can't eat sheep!"

"Why not?"

"Because.. because the sheep would die"

"Yes, they kill them"

There were tears. And she was yelling about how we were lying, and we like animals so we don't eat them, and she was going to tell Alex the girl (her best friend from school) what we said. Now it just so happens that Alex is a vegitarian so...

Uh Oh.

She takes after me. I always hated the idea of eating meat at that age. But I liked it too much to become a vegitarian.. Oh God, but I think Naomi will. We're going to have a five year old vegitrian on our hands. And you have NO idea how picky she is about food.

I still aspire to kill at least a chicken by hand when I'm older though. I think if you eat something you should at least be able to kill it yourself. It's just basic. Yeah, it's what we are, we naturally eat meat, we're predators. Well I don't want to eat meat if I can't actually do the killing part.

Um.. lemme see if I can find a poem from my vast collection of crapness about being in denial..

ooh i kinda found one.. but it's kind of personal too...

She�s closed herself up so far

Her windows hold this truth

Covered in pretty pictures and

There�s no light shining through

Pictures of what I hear you ask

Well I�ll tell you what they say

They say �Inversely arrogant bitch

Who cannot accept that she will change�

She finds one small obsession

And lets it fill her life

Then soon she gets bored

And changes her view on the world

You can see where she switched

From music into politics

Halfway down the second window

The theme begins to change

Her reason for living is altered

And it frightens her so much

That she can not possibly be the same

The same person that she was

She lies wishing she could stare

Out of the bedroom window that

She so successfully covered up

With what she thought to be herself

Instead she looks at pictures

Obsessions of the past

She smiles as she peels away the pictures

And looks through the glass>