A very large percentage of the people in this great country of ours are batshit-crazy cretins. Which can be proven by looking at the number of people who have ridiculous food hang-ups.
Someone with whom I worked several years ago swore up and down that Italian food gave her stomach cramps and constipation that lasted for days. This was very interesting (as well as too much information), because her brother and father were Italian American. She was not adopted, so I have every reason to believe that her ancestors were also Italian American or 100% Italian.
Breakfast cereal, potatoes, mac and cheese, and a juicy beefsteak had no ill effect. Tomatoes on sandwiches? No problem. Cheddar, ditto. Bacon and egg fast-food muffins? Garlic fries? Yummy!
Spaghetti or pizza? Biscotti?
The horror, the horror!
If you had asked me, I would have opined that she had unresolved father-issues.But nobody asked, and she had very attractive breasts, so most people tolerated her madness.
The BBC informs me that nearly a third of us are diet-neurotic.
CITE:
Twenty-nine percent of adult Americans - 70 million people - say they are trying to cut back on gluten.
[SOURCE: http://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-33486177.]
The author of that article mentions that his son has been diagnosed with Coeliac Disease. Which is a valid reason to avoid gluten.
However, most people who avoid gluten are just immature hysterics, and have a nauseating sense of entitlement, as well as an overweening sense of being special.
That's well over sixty million Americans who are totally insufferable.
Most of whom do NOT possess breasts that make it all good.
A few do. But not a statistically significant sample.
Plainly put, they're pickleheads.
From the same source, here's a lovely quote:
"The tennis star Novak Djokovic believes he owes his stellar 2011 season to giving up gluten. In his book Serve to Win, he describes the moment his nutritionist Igor Cetojevic gave him a slice of bread and told him to hold it against his stomach while he held his other arm out straight. Then Cetojevic pushed down on his arm. "With the bread against my stomach, my arm struggled to resist Cetojevic's downward pressure. I was noticeably weaker," the tennis star writes. "This is a sign that your body is rejecting the wheat in the bread," Cetojevic told him."
Obviously, it's not just Americans.
I know myself well enough to realize that no matter how nice the breasts, about which I can get lyrical and poetic if circumstances merit, I could not put up with a fantasy food intolerance in anyone I was dating.
Fine gustation is far too important to me.
Sure, breasts are a fascinating subject, and can at times be appurtenances of inspired veneration.
But breads, pastries, peanuts, soy-based condiments, meats, flavourful food, and fish that does not come out of a can, are the staves of life, the condiciones sine quibus non of civilization.
Along with butter and cream.
I would far rather that the people who see us enjoying hot milk tea and an array of sumptuous pastries admire the fact that she sincerely loves a nice bite to eat, than that they assume that the only reason I asked her out was because of her enormous gazongas.
Gazongas should be a mere detail.
All hail the healthy appetite.
Set free the noodles.
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