I’ll be the first to admit it: when it comes to gluten, I’m paranoid.
My little sister likes to tease me about this (see photographic evidence above). But I would like to say for the record that I am way less paranoid than I was a year ago. When I was still a new gluten-freebie, I took it personally if anyone dared to eat gluten in my presence.
I mean, gluten makes me feel awful – I don’t want the stuff anywhere near me!
Before GFBF was around, I lived alone and everything in my kitchen was GF. When he moved in, gluten was not welcome in the house – if he wanted a sandwich, he would just have to eat it on my bread. Eventually, though, he got tired of the texture and I got tired of buying $8 loaves of bread that lasted less than a week.
We’ve come to a fair arrangement, though: in exchange for his own cupboard to fill with gluten-laden foods, GFBF puts up with my constant nagging about whether or not he cleaned up the kitchen, post-sandwich. Or post-pie. GFBF even says, about sharing the kitchen “you’d think it’d be a big pain in the ass, but it’s not.”
I’m lucky that GFBF is a trustworthy guy, and is willing to make a few small sacrifices in order to keep me healthy. Like not using that great toaster he bought me for Christmas (it’s for GF bread only!) or brushing his teeth before we kiss if he’s been eating gluten.
And it’s taught me to let down my guard and accept that my inability eat gluten doesn’t mean that GFBF’s sandwich-eating-ways are an attack on me. He just likes them!
var _gaq = _gaq || ; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-24929285-1']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']);