The Perfect Life # 36 by Dr. Perfect
Girl Scout Cookie season is upon us, but I was recently diagnosed with a severe gluten allergy. Seriously considering taking a week off work and bingeing a box or four of Thin Mints, for old times sake. Talk me off this ledge.
The Sad Scout
Dear Sad Scout,
I’m replying between bouts of my own Thin Mints binge. They’re glorious. When asked how many boxes I’d like to purchase by scouts outside the supermarket, my first answer is always, “Yes.”
I don’t mean to be dismissive. I’m practicing material for my set at the Laugh Hole this weekend. Ladies drink free until eleven.
Of course, my state of mind is never in question. I just need to open another fresh box of delicious Caramel deLites. Maybe you caught me at a bad time. Nonetheless, allergies can be a real pain. They prevent us from enjoying the finer things in life, like shrimp and latex rubdowns.
During my college heyday, I developed a rare allergy to silk, which hindered my increasingly swanky lifestyle. My silk robe and various briefs were the first casualties. I was then deemed persona non grata at the national silk convention.
A friend of mine once claimed to be allergic to “meanness.”
I told her, “You have to be kidding.”
“No,” she said. “I break out into hives whenever someone is mean to me, honest.”
“There’s no way that’s medically possible,” I said.
“My doctor told me.”
“Well, your doctor’s a quack,” I snapped.
Next thing I knew, hives coated her face.
“See?” she cried. “Thanks a lot.”
For the record, I still don’t believe her.
Considering your current, unfortunate circumstance, I suppose you have no choice but to succumb to your diagnosis and drop the Girl Scout Cookies altogether. Take comfort in the fact that sweets aren’t everything. They are to me, but that’s not important. There are plenty of perfectly reasonable and healthy alternatives out there. You’ll also be pleased to know that the Girl Scouts offer gluten-free options. Of course, this may bring little solace. Their gluten-filled varieties remain a delectable godsend known only to those fortunate enough to indulge in their savory bliss.
My doctor recently recommended that I limit my brandy to once a month. “What about my weekly galas?” I asked, mortified. He wasn’t sympathetic.
Please send whatever leftovers you have at your earliest convenience.