Passionately, hopefully, he opens the fridge door and looks inside. Yes, it’s still there. He lifts it out, caressing it lovingly. Carrying it as if it’s a crock of gold, he strides to the kitchen table. No stopping him now.
Slowly, he peels away the wrapper. Ever so carefully, not dropping a tiny bit, he places it on a plate. It lays there exposed. Waiting to be devoured.
He looks at his watch. “Not much time left now.”
The blade slides through, swiftly, easily. Cutting the seconds before his New Year’s Resolution comes into force.
“Now?” I ask.
“Not yet,” he says, salivating like one of Pavlov’s dogs.
“You’ve only ten more minutes,” I remind him.
He pops a piece into his mouth. Holds it on his tongue. Savours the moment. Eyes closed in bliss.
Five more minutes.
He eats the next piece without sucking it first. And the next he eats quicker.
Two more minutes.
One more minute.
Gobble. Gobble. Gobble.
It’s done now. No turning back. No more white, crumbly Cheshire cheese. Never ever again. But it’s all right. He’ll soon stop hankering for it. He’ll find plenty of new scrumptious food and will never regret his decision. It’s a beginning, not an ending. A gaining, not a losing.
The dairy herds dance and sing to welcome the latest arrival. He wipes his lips on the stroke of midnight and says ‘hello’ to the world. A newly-born vegan.