The Happy Carrot

“Hello, is that the Happy Carrot?”

“Yes.  How can I help?”

“Well, we’ve probably left it a bit late but I’m enquiring about booking our Christmas do.”

“Ah, yes, ha ha.  You have a bit.  We can squeeze you in on Thursday – how many in your party?”

“Um, well, there’s me, and Carol, and Liz, and Linda, and Pete off the vans, and Manjit, and Rob, and – possibly – Dave.   But there’s a question mark over Dave.”

“So, seven or eight?”

“Yes – but as I say, there’s a question mark over Dave.”

“We can do you a table for eight at seven, but we will need to move you on at nine.  Is that OK?”

“That’s great!  Fine, thank you.”

“And would you like to pre-order from our Christmas menu, to save time?”

“Um, yes.  Hang on, I’ve got it written down.  Carol and Linda want Option A; Liz, Pete and Mary want B – but no coriander on Manjit’s; and Rob wants C with extra chips.”

“And you?”

“No, I don’t think Rob wants me.  Not even on the side!  Ha!”

“What do you want to order?”

“Oh, yes, I’ll have the B as well but could I swap the tomatoes for extra green beans?”

“That’s no problem.  And your other guest?  Steve?”

“Who?  Oh!  Dave.  Well, as I say there’s a question mark over Dave.  He’s a bit faddy, you see.  He doesn’t think you’ll be able to cater for him.”

“Oh.  Well, we can try.  We can do gluten free.”

“Oh.  It’s not that.  He’s a – he’s a – one of those what-do-you-call-thems?  He’s a mortist.”

“Ah.”

“So, you can’t do it?”

“I’ll have a word with the chef.  But are you sure he wouldn’t be happy with seitan or some other form of substitute?”

“No, he says there’s no point to it.  He wants meat, freshly killed meat, barely cooked.”

“I’ll be honest, we don’t get much call for it.”

“What if he brings his own?  Would you be able to warm it up for him?”

“What are we talking here?”

“I don’t know.  I don’t know what they eat, do I?  Bit of pig, maybe.  A chunk of cow.  Half a bird?”

“I’ll be honest – I don’t think… I mean, we’d have to use separate utensils and everything.”

“If it’s too much trouble… Bloody fussy eaters!  Why can’t they have what the rest of us have?  I mean, it’s not natural, is it?  Having all that flesh, rotting away in your intestines!  We haven’t got the guts for it, have we?”

“You don’t have to tell me.  Listen, I’ll have a word with the chef and I’ll call you back, OK?”

“That’d be brilliant.  Do you know, we had him round for Sunday dinner once.  Dave, I’m talking about.  Well, I made a special effort.  You do, don’t you, for your guests?  Well, I went online looking for recipes.  And I thought I’d make him a stew.  But as for buying the – stuff, well, I didn’t know where to go, did I?  So, in the end, I bashed the cat’s head in, skinned it and chopped it up.”

“Ugh.  And how did that go down?”

“Well, he wolfed it down, didn’t he?  Then he asked what it was and when I said ‘Tiddles’ he ran off to the bathroom, didn’t he?  Said I was mental.  And I said, what’s the difference?  If we’d had a pet pig and sacrificed that for his Sunday dinner, he wouldn’t have minded, would he?  Ah, that’s different, he said.  But I can’t see it.”

“They do have some funny ideas, those mortists.”

“Weirdos.  I’ll tell Dave it’s no go. I’ll say you’re all booked up and I’ll get the rest of the team to keep shtum.”

“That’s probably for the best, isn’t it?”

“I mean, what he does in his own home is different, isn’t it?  If he wants to make himself ill, that’s his business.”

“Quite.  So that’s seven for Thursday at seven.”

“Lovely.  Thank you!  Bye!”

cartoon-carrot-hi

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