Who am I?

I am a vegetarian. Or at least I thought I was until a couple of minutes ago. I searched online for the definition of what kind of vegetarian I am (a dairy, egg, seafood, but no meat or poultry eater). Evidently, there is no definition.

In case you're wondering where the "demi", "semi" or "pesco" vegetarian definition is (i.e. someone who doesn't eat "meat", but eats fish) - there's no such thing... - veggie planet

Hmmm. I'm having a bit of an identity crisis here. I've been calling myself a vegetarian for 28 years (i.e. my whole life, but I suppose, technically, I didn't call myself anything for the first year or so), and now I find out I've been lying.

So I checked out the other Google hits, and number four gave me what I was looking for.

Pesco vegetarians eat fish but no other meat. - the site that reinforces my (false?) identity

Yes, thank you. That's what I needed to see.

So anyway, I'm an ovo-lacto-pesco vegetarian in case you were wondering (you are too, Mom and Dad). The point being that my parents and I did not have turkey for Thanksgiving, while G and his parents did. And of course there were leftovers. So G ate many turkey sandwiches in the ensuing days. He probably would have had more, except, as a bad wife, I let us run out of mayonnaise.

A couple of days after Thanksgiving, I stopped by the store to pick up a couple of things, one of which was mayonnaise. I took it home and alerted G to its arrival. Then it disappeared. No one has seen or heard from it since.

Now if it's Miracle Whip you want, we have gallons. Let me tell you the story. Once upon a time (when we were first married five years ago), G let me know in no uncertain terms that he does not like mayonnaise. Only Miracle Whip. Okay, fine, no problem. We still had both condiments in the house, but the mayonnaise was off limits for G. After several years of this, he started complaining that I was putting too much Miracle Whip on his sandwiches. He would sometimes not finish the lunch I sent because it would make him gag. I couldn't seem to put a thin enough layer on the bread. Meanwhile, he always ordered mayo on his subs with no gagging.

So after years of insisting (seriously insisting) that he doesn't like mayonnaise, only Miracle Whip, we stumbled upon the truth - he hates Miracle Whip and likes mayonnaise. What a kook. Of course, the day before we have this revelation, Miracle Whip was two-for-one, so we have a cabinet full of it. And no mayonnaise.

Because we somehow lost it.