A Bootin' to the Gluten

Goodbye, sweet gluten.

Let’s venture back. We’ve all been there. We’ve all experienced something so bittersweet. Something so good, yet so bad. Take Sun-In, for example. Who didn’t want to be blonde in the 90′s? We sprayed and sprayed that lemon juice and flower extract all over our innocent locks in hopes to become bleach blonde legends like Princess Diana or Zack Morris. Over time, however, we had to face the truth. The “lighter, sun-kissed” hair we were once longing for had evolved what was left of our hair into brassy, overused garage broom bristles. I, for one, felt a little foolish. And orange. Very, very orange.

Unbeknown to me, I have indulged in you, Gluten. I delighted in your flavors for over twenty years. You have been my midnight Baja Chicken Chalupa and my Papa Johns pizza crust and my Cinnamon Toast Crunch…oh, the Cinnamon Toast Crunch. You deceitful son of a protein.

It came to my attention a few years ago that you were my personal Sun-In. You were the promise of satisfied taste buds and fast food forever. Now, you’re nothing more than an inconvenience on the road and a pricey grocery bill. Sure I stay skinny, but not without turning down my own stinkin’ birthday cake. Do you have any idea what it’s like to look a kid in the eye and tell him you can’t make a purchase from his lemonade stand because the maltodextrin would lead to an inflamed small intestine and a night on the toilet?

In the beginning, I felt so defeated. Every aisle I would forgo in the grocery store would talk about me behind my back. So did the people who judged me every time I read a label before I decided if I should put the particular brand of peanut butter back on the shelf or in the cart. But what I’ve come to claim is the fact that I’m one tough gluten free cookie. And be it bitter or bland, at least I can wash it down with a glass of milk.