The Most Tender Place in My Heart is for Strangers

LOLCaroline Courtesy of Mike Murphy

Over the past 4 years, I've reluctantly learned how to trust strangers with my well being. "Why?" you might ask. And it's certainly a valid question.

I have celiac disease. Or, as my boyfriend likes to say, bread is poison to me.

Celiac basically means that my body recognizes a protein found in wheat, rye, barley, and a few other grains as a foreign pathogen. When my body detects even a minute amount of gluten in my small intestine, it takes that as a sign that I have lost the will to live and tries to kill me slowly by attacking the walls of my small intestine. This damage builds up over time leading to super fun-times including miserable stomach aches, nutrient malabsorption, intestinal tearing, and rare intestinal cancers. The immediate damage is more irritating: painful stomach aches that can last about three days.

A few good things have arisen from my celiac diagnosis. I mean, for one? I cook a LOT. I've also been forced to pay a lot more attention to what I put in my body. That doesn't mean I eat healthier food. I am just much more aware of what I'm eating because I have to be.

What's not so great? If I have to eat out, I need to be able to trust that someone's going to make my food without first touching another order containing gluten. Or that my food won't be prepared on the same surfaces as a sandwich. Or that someone doesn't forget not to put croutons in my salad.

I need to trust a complete stranger with my health.

Me after being glutened:
"GAME OVER, MAN! GAME OVER!"

I know this sounds a little melodramatic. But when faced with a full 8 to 12 hours of feeling like gremlins are repeatedly gut-punching me? I'll pass, thanks.

When I explain celiac to people, they're usually incredibly understanding and considerate. People will go out of their way to make sure I am well fed and feel safe eating what they've prepared. Friends and family especially will go out of their way to make sure I don't get "gluten-ed." But I know these people. They aren't the anonymous waiter or man behind a deli counter.

Now, I haven't gotten gluten-ed in almost 4 months. But after the last time? A server had looked me right in the eye and said, "yeah, that'll be no problem." And then three hours later it was a really painful and awkward problem.  I felt lied to. I mean, more importantly I felt like a beach ball. A very painful beach ball. Ultimately, I felt lied to and taken advantage of. Regardless of whether it was the server's fault, and it likely wasn't, he had told me I would be okay. I felt like an idiot for believing him.

I know that getting accidentally gluten-ed is not the end of the world, but those little damages add up. Physically, my body has to take some time to heal from gluten ingestion. Mentally? I end up afraid of eating out. I end up angry and frustrated, and more than a little wary of letting strangers cook for me.

Holdin' On For That Teenage Feelin'

I have a pretty clear idea of what my boyfriend's taste in women is. Strange first sentence, I know. But considering that we've been together for nearly 4 years and friends for over 6, it's not surprising.

An Artistic Interpretation of Dating at a Small Private High School

It's sort of strange then that he doesn't fully understand my taste in men. What's even stranger is that he probably understands my taste in men better than I do. I've spent some time reflecting on why. The best reasoning I've come up with is as follows:

During their teenage years, most people figure out who they're attracted to. During my teenage years, I was more interested in figuring out who was attracted to me. This sounds pretty convoluted in retrospect.

To provide some context, I've always had a relatively distorted body image—like most girls and women, I'd imagine. I was (am) also cripplingly awkward and quitting sports had made me squishy. Going to a high school full of tanned and athletic teenagers certainly didn't help either. Teenage bodily insecurities aside, my experiences with boys in high school were pretty much what one might expect: experiences with boys in high school, which is to say, mostly disappointing.

Somewhere in my sophomore year of college I started gaining some self confidence. Because dammit, I'd decided, I was cool and if nothing else, I was totally adorable. I also started dating my boyfriend around then. It didn't hurt that I'd always thought he was majorly attractive and suddenly, he was crazy about me.

So where has this left me? After a few years of trying to form some sort of concrete opinion, I can boil it down to a few things that are pretty strange and pretty persnickety. I'm not wild about boyish faces. I don't give two fucks what someone's hair looks like, but something douchey and high-maintenance will automatically lose points. Not too much shorter than I am (though there are exceptions to this), and not usually any smaller than I am. I'm not into the emaciated brooding types, but I'm not into muscle-bound gladiators any more than most of my guy friends are into plastic tits. And I'm guilty of judging books by their covers: when guys look smart, I get a little swoony.

Of course, these are in no way absolutes, but hey. How's that for the first post in over a month. Now, to sleep. (Perchance to dream)