Dear Dairy Allergy,
Let me be clear: I hate you. I hate the way you make me forget about you until I eat indulge in a carton of Chobani blueberry nonfat Greek yogurt and end up with tummy troubles that have left me horizontal for the past 24 hours except for visits to the bathroom. I hate that your math makes this
I hate you because I have to forgo my yogurt and my beloved shredded cheddar and crumbled bleu cheeses. Let's not forget my husband's out-of-this-world mac and cheese.
This picture now makes me think: BLECH.
So long my attachment to my homemade lasagnas and my eggplant parmesan.
No more spontaneous after-dinner walks with my husband to Baskin Robbins for mint chocolate chip ice cream cones.
Dairy Allergy dear, I hate you because you've spent a long time making my life less than comfortable, going back to the childhood hives and the eczema that ran down my arms and legs.
I hate you because you now that I have found you out, you make me more accountable for my food choices, because you make me think before I eat, because you make me plan my meals and my treats. I hate you because you now are making me grow up.