By all accounts, I am a super picky eater. When asked, I joke that it’s easier to list what I can eat than what I can’t. Because for real. This is ridiculous. And I feel awful when I’m out with someone or at someone’s house and I have to ask a million questions about the food and then can’t eat it. The super apologetic pantry-raiding the host goes through to find something I can tolerate just kills me.
I can’t have: wheat gluten, meat (I can’t eat beef, don’t like most chicken, turkey, or pork so I put a blanket ban on meat), lettuce, bell peppers, sprouts of any kind, or milk. But some cheese is okay. Exhales.
And sometimes, I encounter those people who insist it’s all in my head and decide that since I don’t have full blown celiacs, I’m just being a princess and try to slip me gluten anyways. They say that I couldn’t have just “suddenly” become gluten intolerant, and that I’ve eaten wheat my whole life. But they don’t realize that I’ve had these food issues my whole life. And then I eliminated things from my diet, and my problems basically disappeared. But no, they insist I’m trying to be one of those trendy girls who call for attention with food issues. Those people are awful and I have no qualms about vomiting on something they love. I had a colonoscopy and goddamn endoscopy (which I woke up half way through, panicked, and choked on the camera in my throat) when I was twenty-two, and I didn’t do it for fun.
But what do gluten, meat, lettuce, bell peppers, sprouts, and/or milk do to me? Well. Digestive distress is the polite way to put it. If I have any of those things, I have to be within sprinting distance of the restroom for the next few hours, until it’s completely out of my system. And after that, I’m miserable and achy for the rest of the day. My skin breaks out worse than it ever did when I was a teenager, and I just feel like my brain is itchy.
So yeah, I’m a picky eater. And more often than not, I don’t like going out to eat. I have to prepare my food at home, by myself, carefully measuring everything, and making sure the food doesn’t touch. No medical reason for that. I just don’t like when my food touches. I’m allowed to have one princess problem.