Wow, the gluten-free diet does suck, does it not? From travelling, to going to PTA meetings with donuts-a-plenty, to visiting relatives who secretly hate you — there are a zillion ways things can go horribly awry. Which is why I have been amazed at my own ability to not eat gluten — intentionally, anyway — ever. Well, okay, there was that one time I drank a beer because I was slightly encouraged to give it a shot, on account of the lack of wheat. And I’m horrible at peer pressure. But I’m never going to do that again, because that was dumb.

Imagine my surprise when I discovered maybe my gluten-free diet isn’t so gluten-free after all. Did I say surprise? How about tears followed by raging anger followed by crazy regret at not making one ounce of that gluten count. I could have had croissants, people. Pastries!!!! It turns out, gluten really does sneak into you even when you think you’ve got its number. (It’s number, by the way, is 666.)

Yep, I had one of those follow-up endoscopy things today and guess what? I’m totally fucked!

All right that was a bit dramatic. I’m only slightly fucked, and in reality I won’t know if I truly am or not until the biopsies come back. What I do know? My body still thinks I eat gluten, even though this blog clearly states that I do not, and that it is, in fact, my bitch. It’s true that I have been gluten’d at restaurants that were not as gluten-free as either the waiter thought, or the chef pretended to be. It’s also true that I don’t feel quite right about once a week. But for someone who cooks almost all of my food from scratch, and tells the wait staff about my whole gluten thing 90% of the time (I know), I’m shocked that I still possess some short villi. SHOCKED. And pissed. So what’s a gluten-free gal to do?

Here’s what I won’t do:

Storm into the kitchen of a restaurant and demand they wash every pot, pan, surface, and swear on their children’s lives that their hands will not touch gluten when also touching my dinner.

Stop going out to eat altogether.

Deny my children Cheerio’s.

Here’s what I will do:

Stop eating fried food even if they’re using rice flour, or no flour at all (cross-contamination, yo).

Have designated bowls and spoons for my kid’s gluten.

Always ask, even if I think I know better

Stop touching bagels. (What? They’re soft.)

I know there are other things, but right now I’m just right pissed off and not willing to entertain any other options. I kind of thought I was already on top of that shizzle, and am now a bit devastated to find out that is not the case. Seriously, does this mean I can’t dine out anywhere other than hippie joints from now on? ‘Cuz that is not fun. Not fun at all. (No offense hippies. If I smoked the weed, I know I’d feel differently.)

Any suggestions, oh wise gluten-free friends?