Monday, June 13, 2011

dinner.

Last night my dad got mad at me because I didn’t finish my dinner. I have two issues with this.

1. I’m a grown woman. I’ll eat what I want to eat, when I want to eat it. I appreciate that he made dinner last night, and sure, I probably should have finished those delicious looking potatoes, BUT...

2. I get really afraid of food sometimes. Ever since the gluten incident in Mexico, I’ve been scared. Sometimes I will wash CLEAN dishes before I use them, just in case. Dad made dinner on the BBQ last night. Steak for the grown-ups, chicken nuggets for the kiddos, and potatoes on the side. He cooked the nuggets on the top rack. Nuggets are breaded. Bread crumbles when it gets dried out from the heat. Gravity exists.
I inspected my dinner as I ate it, picking off anything that looked like it might not belong in my tummy. The steak was fine. The peas were cooked in a separate dish, so they were fine. The potatoes were covered in little flakes and dots of seasoning and death.
I was afraid to eat the potatoes, which is why I didn’t finish my dinner. This post isn’t really about dinner, it is about fear. I fear food because of what it can do to me. I’m afraid of getting sick because it hurts so much. It gets to the point where I worry about my food being contaminated so much that the worry of contamination makes me feel ill. Ugh.

Hey check it out, I added pictures :)