Farty McBland

Six days into the Elimination Diet. Or should I say one? I keep accidentally stuffing it up by not reading ingredients labels properly, so I’m not sure if one mouthful of a banned substance means I need to start again. At this rate forget ten days, I’m going to be on this thing till Christmas.

So what’s it like? Well, I’m sure we’ve all watched enough episodes of The Biggest Loser to know that for the first few days of any diet you’re mostly losing water right? What? Isn’t the television where you learn everything about life too? If the number of trips to the loo are any indication, it seems I’m losing the Indian Ocean. Middle of the night peeing used to be because I’d had too much Jack Daniels, now it’s because I’ve had too much Apple and Elderflower juice. That’s not cool, that’s just embarrassing.

Among an endless and varying list of no-no’s (depending on whose version of the diet you follow) I’m not allowed to have yeast, dairy, corn, eggs, beef, potatoes, onions or garlic, so ingredient checking has become my new hobby and I pretty much have to clear a whole afternoon to go to the supermarket. As a by-product of this new hobby I think I may have figured out why so many people develop a yeast intolerance these days. Have you got any idea how many things in the supermarket have yeast in them? 134,987. Trust me, I’ve checked. Or if there’s no yeast, there’s potato starch or corn starch or maize starch, the latter which I learnt on day three’s stuff up, as I quickly spat out the Mango chutney, is bloody corn too. Arrrgghhh, why didn’t I know that? Why don’t we learn these things in school? Scrap Pythagoras and throw in some nutrition will ya? Except for poly-amorous couples, I’m yet to meet anyone obsessed with triangles.

And by the way, do you know how hard it is to make a meal tasty without any of the items above? Bloody near impossible. Well it is for someone like me, who has the culinary knowledge of a three year old. The answer I’ve discovered though may just be herbs. I’m throwing herbs at everything now and just seeing what happens. But thank bloody god for salt and pepper. If I wasn’t allowed either of those I think I would have gone on a shooting spree by now. Am I allowed to say that yet? Has enough time passed? Oh, just so you know, herbs lathered on a rice cake is not something you’re gonna wanna try.

To make matters worse, I also have to keep a poo diary. I have to write down everything I eat and then document my bowel movements to try to CSI-ify which ingredients are murdering my quality of life. To entertain myself, sometimes I pretend I’m an Olympic judge, peering over the toilet bowl with my pen and pad, marking the poo for dismount, composition, execution??? Well no, it’s more like consistency, frequency, colour isn’t it? Ewww sorry, but just be grateful I didn’t use wine tasting as an analogy there.

I keep the diary right next to the loo so I can write a live feed, as it were. Wouldn’t want to get my runnies mixed up with my solids if I waited till the end of the day and relied on memory. I pray we don’t have any guests over any time soon. Well not actual praying, that was just a figure of speech. Then again, this may be the very cure for snooping. I can guarantee, the trauma suffered from flipping through that thing would make anyone think good and hard before they looked at someone else’s privates again. I mean things. Private things.

The flatulence is a nice surprise too, and by nice I mean horrific. What’s that all about? I’m not sure if it’s all the evil substances being purged from my system or it’s my body’s natural reaction to being fed nothing but fruit and veg and healthy shit all week. Either way, evenings at my place are beginning to sound like I’m holding sleep overs for a bunch of ten year old boys. I’m pretty sure there’s now a gaping hole in the ozone layer above my apartment building that wasn’t there a week ago.

So there you have it, my life. I’m basically a big ball of gas who is being forced to go way beyond just looking at the toilet paper after you’ve wiped, and whose day is dominated by five hour trips to the supermarket. I bet you’re glad you asked. At this stage, if this is healthy, I’m beginning to think I’d rather be sick.

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