Up until about seven months ago, I don’t know if I could have given you the exact definition of gluten. In fact, I guarantee you I couldn’t tell you what foods had gluten, and what were g-free. Why would I? I’d never met a celiac, never known anyone who said they couldn’t eat gluten, never cooked or served food for a living. This is how most of the world lives, and god bless all of you clueless people with lovely digestion.
Which is why I usually try to fend for myself when I eat out, even if someone swears something is gluten-free. I realize I shouldn’t have trusted an otherwise nice lady, when she said tuna tartare on top of a fried wonton was gluten-free, but I wanted it to be.
But here’s the thing, if you don’t know about gluten, please don’t pretend that you do. I will believe you, and then I will be up half the night because I trusted someone who spoke in an authoritative tone. Someone who, perhaps, always speaks in an authoritative tone even when they’re saying, “It’s totally safe to walk on a lake after the first frost. What, are you, chicken?”
So basically, I’m gullible. Please don’t tell me I can eat something when you’re not sure. Yes, even you. Especially you, who always feels the need to be right. There are consequences for that kind of behavior. And if you tell me again that something is gluten-free in that voice that knows it all, when you actually are just afraid of looking like you don’t know something, I will poop in your lap. And it won’t be gluten-free.
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