No wonder I'm a hypochondriac. Only someone with my genetics could end up with so many disorders. The latest in the long line? Celiac disease.
Ah. That may explain why I haven't been feeling so great. Not the end of the world, but I do love bread. Let me rephrase. I love bread. If I weren't already married, I'd have asked Bread to marry me a long time ago. Bread and I would have been very happy together.
So what do I do on the day of my diagnosis?
I figure, what the heck. If I'm going to avoid gluten, I might as well have one last night of hedonistic pleasure. I had brownies (made by my sister earlier in the day), pasta (fresh, from the Bulk Cheese Warehouse) with homemade carbonara, bread (Farmer's Market) and a donut with maple glaze.
Oh - and half of a family-sized bag of chips. Chips, I might add, are gluten free. To which, it was said to me that gluten-free didn't necessarily give me carte blanche to eat whatever I wanted.
What? No chips with a creme brulee chaser each night?
Come on. How bad would that really be for you? :)
