Monday, December 21, 2009
On the one hand, it could be worse. A lot worse. On the other hand, what can be lamer than being lactose intolerant? If it were something else, I might have a badass story to go with it. I could tell people I lost three fingers and eight toes trying to finish the Iditarod with only five dogs. I could say one day I suddenly got another personality and went on a killing spree. OK, that one isn’t exactly cool, but at least it’s interesting.
Nope. I have trouble consuming dairy products. I have done the seemingly impossible: turned milk into an anomaly. Spicy milk, you could call it.
What could be blander than dairy? It is one of the most plain and ordinary things in the world.
And to make matters worse, cheese is one of my favorite things. When I go into a grocery store, the cheese display is a beacon spraying golden light throughout the aisles. All of the best looking women congregate around the cheese stand. There’s no chance to speak with these girls when you’re lactose intolerant. You can imagine any number of scenarios that would not go in your favor.
“There’s nothing sexier than having some wine and cheese in front of a nice fire,” she says, a seductive gleam in her eyes.
“Yeah,” you say. “It’s pretty hot.”
“Why don’t we get together and enjoy a nice brie later this week?” she asks.
“Yeah, sure,” you tell her. “Oh, by the way. After that cheese, before any lovemaking can occur, I’m probably gonna need about half an hour to an hour in the bathroom..."
She stares at you for a moment before becoming uncomfortable and looking away.
"So," you say, "Thursday?"