Oh The Douchebaggery

I am allergic to gluten.

Every time I eat wheat I develop a cough that sounds like a malfunctioning steam engine.
It's not at all appealing.

And, unfortunately, gluten is in everything.
I dare you.
Take out a few containers of food from your fridge or your cabinet and there she is.

Evil bitch is in more food than Will Smith is in movies.

So it makes for a serious quest when I am searching for a suitable meal.
I like esses!

I just got back from staying at a friend's house.
Much love, sugar biscuit!

And due to the aforementioned omnipresence of my gastronomic nemesis, I was left few choices.

Fruit, blah.
Vegetables, blaher.

When I snack, I like to make it count.

Then I see them.
Lit by what could only have been the halo of the gods (or at least a built in shelving bulb) were my beloved cheese cracker of choice---Cheez-Its.

I cracked.
I was in the midst of culinary delight for the briefest of melancholy moments, for I knew tomorrow I would suffer the injustice of bronchitis.

I'm still not sure if a moment of pleasure was worth the gluten-induced huffiness I endured on my walk the following day.

I do know that when (or, I suppose, if) I end up sentenced to the electric chair and the death waiter comes to take the order for my final meal, I will already have a menu in mind.

I will calmly request a freshly baked loaf of bread (with a side of cashew butter), a white pizza, a heaping plate of pasta, and an economy size box of Cheez-its.

It will be, from now on, the best day of my life.

Until the inevitable after party in hell.