229 – a little variety would be nice thanks

Today I collected my Grandad to take him to see Nana in the hospital, and I had my littlest lad in tow because he came down with a fever last night and is not feeling great.

We took Grandad to have a speedy haircut and then went to a corner deli/cafe thingy to have lunch before we headed to the hospital. It was loud as those places are – coffee machines clanging, people chatting, doors banging and general white noise. My Grandad is deaf in one ear and wears a hearing aid in the other one so I have be QUITE loud for him to hear me. He was happily munching away on his ham, cheese and tomato panini – ‘There’s something in here I don’t recognise Kathleen what is it?’ (Did I mention he has macular degeneration and can’t see anything except for with his peripheral vision?). ‘THAT’S PESTO GRANDAD – IT’S BASIL AND STUFF’. After determining that Basil was a herb grown in the garden he seemed to like it. The little lad had a fizzy orange drink that he didn’t touch (and poured down in to the foot rest later in the car) and  a bucket of hot chips (which he didn’t eat and fed to the chickens at Mums place later).

I explained to Grandad that we would drop him off at the entrance of the hospital and go and park, he could go up to Nana and have some quality time, and then me and the little lad would join him but I didn’t think we would be long because he was feeling so tired. I said ‘WE’LL GO WHEN YOU FEEL LIKE IT GRANDAD’. Really loud because he couldn’t hear me. Grandad answered me in the rare silence that sometimes falls in one of those places;

‘It’s alright Kathleen, I won’t want to stay long, we are married in name only really now with your Nana being ill – although the last 20 years or so were pretty awful too’. Cue stunned silence from those around us.

Master 4 pipes up – I didn’t know he was listening – ‘You know Grandad you can marry boys too, so why don’t you not be married to great Nana any more and marry one of your friends?’. Too quietly for Grandad to hear – but not so for the tables who had tuned in on either side. I’m sure I heard a very posh lady snort.

But – actually the point of mentioning the cafe was the food thing. Because it is mere days before pay-day we are down to the last of our supplies, which equals no organised food prep for me and my special gut. So I was starving when we got there and thought fuck it, I’ll get whatever they’ve got that’s gf with my coffee. My delicious/so hard to give up/the only thing that is getting me out of bed coffee.

I scanned the food case and it was depressingly familiar. The only gluten-free option (nicely wrapped and on the top tray so no food crumbs could be getting on  it – can’t complain about that aspect of it) was…

You guessed it – Orange and almond friands! These consistently are the only options at most cafes that don’t pride themselves on being paleo or ‘clean’. It’s a little sad. Orange and almond friands or flourless chocolate cake. Always a sweet option. Don’t get me wrong – I love that is even an option – but why does it always have to be sweet? Dear Cafe owners – feel free to experiment.

Having successfully been off sugar for the last few weeks I was reluctant – but did I mention starving? So I bought one and tried to have it with my coffee. It was too sweet and gave me an instant gut ache. Oh well. I stole a few hot chips and we went on our way.

The littlest lad is not well poor kid, he’s in bed now with me sitting on the floor, the room lit up with a blue glow from my lappytoppy and every now and then he rolls over pathetically and asks for water. Not fair to feel crappy when you’re only little and can’t really and truly appreciate having to stay in your bed all day.

Nana Betty’s funeral is tomorrow, and Mum is back to look after her folks again. My life will start to gain some semblance of normality and I just might get back to work – that is if the bugger hasn’t passed his lurgy on to me!

On a – literally – lighter note; have you noticed it’s getting dark later and later? Spring is right around the corner! Yay!

209 – Hey hey hey three days in a row motherfuckers!

Good evening,

And first may I just point out to my lovely new readers (ha ha that’s so weird – that people I don’t even know are reading this – hi there and haere mai!) who are here thanks to the lovely Fee’s recommendation on her page Shineon – that I have a wee bit of a potty mouth. You may have figured that out by now but I just thought I’d acknowledge it. I’m not sorry – I like swear words – I think they punctuate and accentuate my otherwise fairly bland drivel – but I am aware that some people find them a bit much. Rest assured that my mother brought me up right ok? Although it IS a really good reason not to accidentally share my posts to my Deaning facebook page ha ha that wouldn’t be good.

Today! Three days in a row! Oh my goodness. I told some of my girls today that we could build a (good, studious) habit in them if we could sustain one thing for seven days. For them it was the fairly mundane goal of attending all of their classes for the whole day. They just weren’t ‘feeling it’. The yoof of today! I ask you.

Anyhoo I read somewhere that you start with seven days, turn that in to three weeks and there you have it – a habit. And it takes another 3 months to break said habit. But your heart has to be in it. I feel like I’ve been slacking on this here blog thing recently – and I value the reflection and processing that it gives me of an evening so am back on it. 3 days now. Winning.

Today was up and down. I think I glutened myself. I grabbed a roasted vege salad from up the road for lunch and I didn’t think to ask them if they had dusted the veges in flour before they roasted them – that is the best way to do roasted potatoes after all so I wouldn’t blame them – and I really and truly suffered. The annoying thing is that it also had roasted red onion in it – and I thought I was okaaaay with COOKED onion (I know raw onion cripples me with awful pain) but there is a chance it could have been that too. No way to know. Ugh.

What I do know is that by 20 minutes after I ate I had the tummy of an eight month pregnant woman (3 – really 3 girls asked me in my afternoon classes if I was pregnant!). I was doubled over and had sharp stabbing pains and felt really bad. Horrible bad,Horrible bad as the wee lad would say.

Nevertheless, I had boxing this evening and decided to do the class anyway – I suspected and I was right – that movement and a bit of twisting and stretching might make me feel better. It was slow going but by the end of the class I felt heaps better. Boot-camp this morning and boxing this evening – the grrls a fucking machine! Actually I’m fucking shattered but it’s that good whole-body exhaustion.

Enough of the complaining – I wanted to show you my current obsession;


It’s a bag. Yes. A gorgeous, truly unique GIANT bag. It’s mine and I love it for a special reason. See the weaving on the front, with all the woolly bits hanging off it? Well my Nana, my favourite old grrl, made that piece. Years ago, and my Mum pulled it out recently when she was going through Nana’s stuff to move them to Auckland this year. She offered it to me and I knew that I didn’t want it to moulder away in a cupboard somewhere.

So I asked around and was put on to a woman named Helen Miller who makes leather bags for a living, and I asked her to make it in to a bag for me. I am SO pleased with the result. I fucking LOVE the tassels. I love that you can see the ‘working’ of it and it’s not all slick and perfect. I took it to show it to Nana on the weekend and she was tickled too. She didn’t definitely remember making it but thought it was def ‘her style’ and entirely possible that she did ha ha. In her defence and dementia aside – it was probably 30 years ago and I can’t even remember last week! But she loved it too and that makes me happy.

So, I probably should go rest this weary body and mentally prepare myself for Parent teacher interviews tomorrow night. I can barely contain my joy.

183 – We made it!


We made it to the end of term! I know I disappeared for a minute there this week but I was trying to stay sane whilst keeping everything I needed to remember in my head at the same time – no room for superfluous thoughts or word usage.

As we crawled closer and closer to 3.20 this afternoon I could feel myself slowly giving up on all fronts. Gut-healing restrictions all GONE, will to get out of bed in the morning for boot camp GONE and capacity for original thought GONE. Long blacks with cold milk – takeaway – have become my best friend. Whittakers chocolate my secret lover. Boot camp my arch nemesis. The fitbit has been an experiment in sadism. And yet I have been a chipper, chatty poppet.

My poor office mate has had to put up with me babbling away like a beauty pageant contestant in her ear all week – all sunshine no substance. That’ll be all the sugar I reckon! I also have a big, round, sugar belly.

And I have been thinking about wine. The photo at the top gave you pause eh? Especially if you’ve spoken to me recently and heard me babbling about how the only things I have managed to stay off were gluten and alcohol (that’s my stubborn streak). And the photo is of the mantelpiece in the music lounge yes.

I have been thinking about wine this week. Red wine. The wonderful kick in the back of the throat that a good(?) red wine gives when it hits it for the first time. The satisfaction of cracking the seal on the twist top (ahh so classy). The ‘legs’ on the side of the glass when you swirl it. Fuck me this mamabear loves wine. And it’s my birthday next week – surely I’ve been saying to myself, surely I could have a glass for my birthday? after all I won’t be (insert number dangerously close to 40 here) ever again! So the seed has been planted. But I’m a stubborn fucking biatch. Look again;


That’s right ‘alcohol fucking removed’. Whaaaaaaaaa?

I was driving home after ringing a million homes to find out why half of my cohort was not at school. I have been hearing variations on ‘Oh I’m sorry Ms Dean but my daughter is on holiday already in samoa/america/hamiltron and will not be returning until next term now’ all week now (apparently the school term means nothing and the credits she might have gotten today in the Maths assessment can go to hell because cheap fares and a teenager free house is more important THAN YOUR CHILDS EDUCATION thank you very much).

I digress. Where was I? I was driving home and I needed/wanted/craved/could think of nothing but Wine. And then suddenly Eureka! They are always trying to con pregnant women in to ‘alcohol free wine’. They wouldn’t make pregnant women drink stuff that tastes NOT like wine and call it wine would they?

I stopped at Glengarry’s and went and asked the friendly wine lady if they had a decent non-alcoholic wine that actually tasted like wine. And then without even thinking I LIED and said it was for my pregnant friend coming round for dinner. What the fuck?! Why did I lie? Obviously I am ashamed of my teetotaler status. And I want the strangers in the wine shop to like me? Because I care so much. Because…..    I think that’s a whole other blog post. Jebus.

What was the ‘wine’ like you ask? Hmmm. I can’t say it didn’t taste like wine. But it did taste distinctly like sour juice. Which I guess is what wine is – except the good stuff has the alcohol and it makes your teeth tingle so good.

I have had one glass and it wasn’t awful. I will probs not buy it again deliberately but it’s like the whole gf thing – you have to forget what ‘real’ pasta tastes like before you have gf ‘pasta’ or it will be bloody terrible. I haven’t forgotten yet what real wine tastes like. I will just have to find another way to scratch the super-tired-at-the-end-of-term-mama-needs-a-treat itch.

Tomorrow I sleep in – School Holidays woo-fucking-hoo!!

141 – ow ow ow!

Tonight I went out for dinner with my work friends. I rang ahead because it was a restaurant that I hadn’t been to before and checked that they could do GF food that would be safe for a coeliac and the man I spoke to on the phone assured me that mostly the gluten was in the soy sauce dishes and that yes, they could do a number of them sans gluten for me.

So I rocked up full of confidence and was completely bamboozled by the menu straight off. It was a fairly authentic Japanese ‘pub food’ restaurant (I am told), and they made a point t say that they only made sushi when requested – they have other special dishes they were more proud of. It all looked AMAZING and delicious but I was wary because I knew that whatever my colleagues had – I would get a slightly different version – read not so great. Unfortunately my fears were realised.

The staff were unclear as to which dishes I could have and anything I suggested – the young waitress said couldn’t be adapted. Luckily one of my friends had lived in Japan for years and can speak Japanese and she asked about adapting two of the dishes by taking the sauce completely out of the picture. Thank goodness for Ruth!

I ended up having a sauce-less Salmon Tataki (barely grilled thin slivers of salmon) and a seaweed salad – no dressing  and they were both delicious. YUM. But. Within minutes of me finishing my meal I started getting stabbing stomach pains, was uncomfortable sitting still and my jeans became uncomfortably tight. I looked 8 months pregnant under my tent dress  (yes a dress over jeans because I’m so nineties) and I needed to lie down. Not gluten though, I think it was the raw factor. Remember how I am to meant to be eating raw food this year? Yes the seaweed salad may have been a mistake.

So although it was a really lovely evening catching up with some of the wonderful women I work with, it was another fail on the food front. I am off to bed now – to try to relieve some of the tension in my belly – yes that’s code for farts (but at least I might get the bed to myself tonight! All of the family and fur kids in the bed does not make for a very restful night). Good night!


So I’m driving home from work at 8 pm (parent teacher night) and I cross over the intersection on to Williamson Ave. As I come over the bus parked at the side of the road pulls out in front of me. Slowly. Without warning. I speak in to the silence in the car (my stereo is broken and it is literally the only thing I like about my car so that’s just not fair).  I say ‘Just pull out in front of me dude’ then after a beat ‘Fucking cunt’. I crack myself up. Even in the confines of my car – where noone can hear me – I’m a potty mouthed bitch.

Tonight in one of my interviews I said ‘Taking the piss’. I said to the PARENTS of a student ‘She is taking the piss’. Luckily I have Deaned this girl for three and a half years and the parents know I adore her, and they were not at all offended, and I apologised profusely of course, but seriously. That is not cool. Normally I am MUCH more professional I promise.

I put this down to one thing; Sugar. Yes.

I didn’t want to write this post. I told my friend at work that I hadn’t been blogging as regularly lately because I felt guilty lying by omission. That if I didn’t tell you about my big bloated sugar belly, my tingly teeth or my ridiculous sugar intake that maybe it wouldn’t exist. I am conscious that people read this stream-of-consciousness/drivel. Enough of you have been in contact to say you do, or taken the time to tell me in person, and it’s really special to hear. So I thank you from the heart of my bottom and I’m sorry.

I’m sorry because for the past four weeks I’ve been living a lie. (Duuun dun dun) Easter was too much for me and I am now spiraling in to a sugar induced grump fest. And I have been trying to find things to write about that mean I don’t have to mention the brownie crumbs on my 5 o’clock shadow and the cup of tea with real milk I am slurping all over myself. I am trying.

I got up this morning before the sun rose and took the dog for a run. My first one in WEEKS. I had boiled eggs on toast for breakfast. With butter. And Coffee. Damn. And I followed it with a GF brownie chaser. What the fuck? Ok, I can come back from that. I packed a savoury lunch of chicken curry. Right. Be good. Be positive. Stop self harming with food. This shit isn’t good for you grrl, Nourish not Punish.

Waiting for lunch I decided to walk up the road with my friend (the very one who insisted that you guys want to read about me fucking up like this because we can all relate so I am doing it). I was going to get a bottle of water because a side effect of all this shite in my diet is that I am thirsty all the time. I get to the cafe and buy ginger crunch and a coffee. Excuse me?

So for lunch I had ginger crunch and a trim flat white. And then after work for afternoon tea, the school supplied snacks – apple and cheese – dairy and high fructose. For dinner, because the non gf staff ate all of the gf food supplied I had grapes, a mandarin and gf brownie for dinner. High fructose, high fructose, sugar and dairy. The poor woman who runs our school cafe was mortified because she had made this food especially and she kept pressing this gf cake on me – what could I do? I ate the fruit and cake. Happily. Because I had an excuse.

The lovely, patient, solo parenting Dutchman made me dinner at short notice and I am now full of greens, potatoes and sausages. And sugar. My teeth are tingling, my body feels bleurgh. I am suffering but I am stuck in the cycle. So every day I will get up and every day I am going to try again. Tomorrow I am going to have green tea – if any hot drinks at all. Coffee is a gateway drink. I know the GD will read this so he won’t offer me coffee. I am going to have a smoothie for brekkie so I am not hungry and I am not going to buy anything to eat.

These are the conditions I have set for myself. For tomorrow. To start again. Again.

107 – Home again, Home again


Ahhhhh Home. I flew in this afternoon and the GD picked me up before we collected the lads. You know that lovely feeling of coming home to see your fam, walking in to a clean house, the familiar smells and fur children all lined up ready to greet you and purr/wag themselves silly?

Nah. Not so much. The house smells like a mixture of farts and vomit. It looks like a fucking tornado hit it, and the fur children were only interested in me as long as it took for me to nag the GD to feed them. The wee lads were pleased to see me though ‘What did you bring us Mum?’ and the poor grumpy Dutchman who WAS pleased to see me was greeted with me saying ‘WHY did you bring the van for fucks sake?’ (I don’t like sitting in the dogs spot). Poor man was rushing to get to me on time from work and did not get the grateful wife he expected. The Bitch is baaaaaack!

The poor buggers had a rough week. I arrived in Chch on Sunday night and I got a phone call on Monday from the GD to say that he had left work and was on his way to Daycare to collect Master 4. He wasn’t well and couldn’t stay. This led to a really grumpy Dutchman because he was missing work to take him home. Updates through the next 24 hours revealed that he was contagious – the GD soon caught the lurgy and then both of them had the throw ups. Poor Master 7 was so bored at home with them both. And I was in Chch completely unable to help….

Oh dear how sad! I had a wonderful week of baby snuggles and leisurely walks with the dog Dave. My sister really just needed me as a pair of extra hands – the first time her husband has gone away for work since their daughter was born – and I was very glad to help. Is there anything more snuggly than a teeny weeny baby? Variously sucking her thumb, a bottle or my arm in our cuddles she was a lovely little pink bundle (baby girls get dressed in SO MUCH PINK) and we had many a lovely chat – me chatting obvs and her just sort of gurgling and exclaiming. She is my sister’s first baby and she is still in that mode where she can’t do anything when the baby is awake. I am a very willing baby holder.

I flew down with the intention of using my time down there to withdraw from all the naughties I had picked up again over Easter. Sugar, Dairy, Coffee, Crunchy and Raw. Along with them I had taken with me – Itchy, Flakey, Achey and Redface.

But you know what? Withdrawal didn’t happen. I fell in to the ‘new baby survival’ habits that my sister was already in – grabbing a snack of whatever you could whenever you could, ‘treating myself’ to coffee when exhausted and wanting a pick me up, I ate her entire supply of apples. I am not meant to eat Apples. I was out of control man. And the more I told myself that I had a handle on it and could stop anytime – the more I couldn’t. I even found myself eating chocolate in the car on the way home from doing a food shop for her. In secret. I don’t eat food in secret! I normally roll around in my food shame in public! All out there and ridiculous for all the world to judge. Bizarre behaviour.

And all those side effects of my damaged guts that I was getting a handle on have started to rear their ugly heads again; Fucked up skin, exhaustion (when doing absolutely nothing!), bloating, headaches and feeling like shite warmed up. You know that not very ‘clean’ feeling you get inside when you don’t eat enough veges? I used to get it flatting – I’d be jonesing for some broccoli after too many days of two-minute noodles and beer. That’s pretty rock and roll eh? Craving broccoli? That’s me baby – I get all excited about leafy greens.

Anyway. I had a lovely time in Chch. I didn’t blog because I spent my evenings cuddling my wee niece or sleeping ha ha. But I am very pleased to be back as the bosom of the family again. I have had some lovely cuddles with my big boys this evening and they were actually pleased to see me too – not just the pressies ha ha.

Moving forward my plan is to do a really good food shop, clean the house and get my shit prepped for school to start on Monday. I need a clear space in my head and my house to get back on track. Start as I mean to go on – Term two will be the start of something good.

Here are some pics from my wanderings round Christchurch – mostly nature and shit – if you’re in to that;

      DSCF0061    DSCF0064        DSCF0065    DSCF0074        DSCF0078    DSCF0080

90 – no regrets, just lessons learned


I went to Te Warewhare tonight to buy easter treats for my Form teachers. 14 foil wrapped easter bunnies. Add to that an Easter egg each for the lads, one for the grumpy Dutchman and assorted mini eggs for the chase on Sunday morning. Annnnnnd then throw in the basket a packet of six pineapple lump marshmallow eggs. Which I happen to know are gluten free.

They never left my thoughts. I had decided weeks ago that if I wanted an Easter egg for easter I would have one. That last year the beginning of my downfall was the Easter break. I tried to drown out the cravings and ignore them but I ended up exploding and eating ALL the chocolate. It was the slippery slope that meant the end. This time I decided to be kind to myself, no denying and to just see how I went.

There are no pineapple lump marshmallow eggs left. I feel sick. I have a headache and a horrible taste in my mouth and I am overheating.

These are good things to remember. I will not beat myself up over this but I will pay attention to my body and how it reacts to this overload of sugar. Now I will go to bed because I feel awful.

Peace out my peeps.

Day 70 – a cry for help


Last night I ate so much fruit that I was in agony. I had told myself that buying nectarines and plums on the way home was better than buying chocolate or wine – which was what I wanted – and that I was doing myself a favour. I purposefully ignored the high fructose factor because I was feeling sorry for myself and feeling like I was missing out. I was tired and needed something to energise me. I told myself that actually, I have been not eating certain things for so long that my gut is probs sweet bro, eat away, you’ll be fine. I am very easily persuaded. And I am also very convincing. It’s a terrible combination.

Within half an hour I looked 7 months pregnant under my dress, I had to go lie down because I was hurting so bad and I was worried that I had actually done permanent damage.

All because my immune system can’t recognise food for what it is and attacks things randomly causing me pain and discomfort. Because my gut lining is so damaged from years of gluten exposure that even though I had my diagnosis of CD and went GF two years ago it might as well have been yesterday for all that it has healed. And because I knew all of this and still put something inside me that was potentially going to do me damage.

I beat myself up all night about it and then went out in a panic to find lunch today in my thirty minute break and bought more fruit. What the ACTUAL fuck man. The definition of insanity is repeating the same mistake twice and expecting different results. I am doing this to myself. Compulsively.

I need to stop eating fruit and start having a lie down. I need to take a year off work and travel around the hot places of the world, not eating fruit, taking photographs and somehow being paid for it. I need the grumpy Dutchman to stage an intervention and take all of the fruit out of the house. I need to stop eating in the car. I need to figure out how to get my kids to stay in their own beds for the whole night. I need to figure out how to jam three more hours in my day – preferably between classes – so I can do some actual Deaning while I am at school and not try to fit it in around the edges. I need.

I need.

I need WINE.


Day 55 – Gluten free fad-ness is killing me

Artist - Alexandra Berger
Artist – Alexandra Berger

Ranting out loud (in my head) at my computer. Or rather – people on the interwebs. I follow the Coeliac disease NZ page and a couple of others, and mostly they are great places to get advice, commiserate and get good safe restaurant recommendations. BUT it amazes me how often people ask for help or advice and then get mad because you are not telling them that actually it would be fine to have just one pie a day because that much gluten can’t hurt can it? If you have coeliac disease it will hurt you. Or when you suggest that making food themselves from yummy ingredients would be easier than surviving on GF cake from cafes – that is probably contaminated anyway by the way. Bitch got mad at me because I suggested she cooks! I don’t know her life but I do know that boiling an egg isn’t rocket science. I only had to ring my mum the first 3 maybe 4 times the first time I did it? and now I’m practically an expert. So there.

Or – and this is really annoying – when someone finds out I am gluten-free from the coeliacs and then they say ‘I don’t eat gluten either – I am trying to lose weight’. REALLY?! ARE YOU TRYING TO LOSE WEIGHT ARE YOU?!

I am all for not eating stuff that makes you feel like shite. Have you seen my list of no-gos ffs? And I have every respect for those folks that are doing what they can to feel the best they can feel. BUT don’t go gluten-free ‘for your weight’ and then eat all the packaged, sugar-free, chemical shit storm gluten-free food in the stupidmarket and then complain about getting fat. Processed food is processed food. When they take out the gluten they add sugar and salt and other ‘filler’s to make it taste ‘normal’ Don’t be fooled dude.

Especially don’t come to a work function and hoover up all the gluten-free food that they thoughtfully got in – leaving none for the real foodtards, and then go over to the ‘normals’ food and just have one because it ‘won’t hurt’. Because it won’t hurt you. And you ate all my fucking grapes and now I hate you.

Shall I tell you what I have learned about cafes and restaurant gluten free-ness? I have learned that even if the food has gluten-free ingredients, if it is cooked on the same tray as gluteny food it will be contaminated. If it is stored in the same display as the other food it is likely to be contaminated. (It can be okay if they store it at the top so nothing can drop crumbs on it). If they don’t have gluten-free specific tongs, the food is contaminated. If they don’t have gluten-free cutting boards or utensils out the back then the food is likely to be contaminated. Even if you order gluten-free toast; if they cook it in the same toaster it is definitely contaminated.

I have learned that if you ask these questions cafe staff quickly become sick of you and either a. lie to shut you up or b. make it clear they want you to fuck off. And that’s fair enough really. They can only go so far to accommodate. I have learned that it is easier to not eat out very often.

And although I think that the ‘trend’ towards gluten-free eating has meant that there are heaps of yummy things on the market now that are safe for me to eat and although I agree to some extent that coeliacs ‘should be grateful’ that there are more options out there for us, I am conscious that every time I say that I need to have gluten-free food I cringe a little in case someone thinks this is my ‘lifestyle choice’. It would be amazing to get up tomorrow and be able to eat anything I like.

I am not an angel. I know that if I could – and knew it wouldn’t hurt me – I would eat pretty randomly. It takes a lot of organisation and effort to be able to eat at every meal, to be prepared for each day – and I am not too often – and to make sure that I am getting everything I need from my food. It is tiring when the rest of life is demanding attention too. I guess that’s why I get so irritated with the foodie fads.

I ALSO KNOW HOW ANNOYING IT IS TO HANG OUT WITH ME. My very thoughtful friends and family go to great lengths to make me food or treats and they are so disappointed when I can’t eat them because of some shit. I’m sorry.

GF for life bitches.