presentation matters—

parsley sprigs,

a balsamic drizzle,

a touch of flair.

but Darren brought Steve.

still wearing his name badge.

it was—

a little on the nose.

“We don’t do that anymore,”

Claire sighed,

her tofu skewer dangling like judgment.

“We’re plant-based now.

it’s about kale bowls

and ethical protein.”

Darren shrugged.

gesturing to Steve,

“What can I say?

he’s free range.”

the dinner table buzzed.

“How do you get enough iron?”

“Is bone broth passé?”

and Old Marge,

gnawing on a femur,

grumbled—

“Back in my day,

we didn’t waste a thing.”

cannibals are just like us:

debating oat milk

vs “real milk,”

trading recipes,

dodging secrets.

except Darren.

he always over-shares.

when the party ends,

they hand you doggie bags—

just don’t ask what’s inside.