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Allergic Reaction© Lucia Foster-Found 2022 www.luciafosterfound.com

“Would you like some?” Himself asked. Like an iridescent caterpillar, a blue moustache curled around his top lip. She looked dubious. The smoothie that he was so obviously enjoying was an unnatural shade of Prussian blue and she’d read somewhere that there was no truly blue food. “I might – depends what’s in it..” “Banana, apple, ginger, pear … umm..” He looked at the glass of blue-green gloop as if seeking inspiration, “Oh yes, oats and yoghurt.” “But why is it blue?” “Knew there was something else – blue spirulina powder.” He took another appreciative slurp. “Want some?” As she was steering away from dairy, regretfully she declined. “Can’t. Yoghurt. Although it’s a wonderful colour. Reminds me of one of those expensive paints that come in fancy tins with uber tasteful labels; names like Dragonfly Nasal Hairs and Eau de Workhouse. They’d probably call that something like ‘Lascivious Lobster.” At some point in their shared history they’d toyed with the idea of painting their dining room ‘Din-Dins’ or something similar. Seemed appropriate. Until Himself had looked at the sample on the wall and declared “looks like dried blood,” which had somewhat killed it for her; she’d shuddered and reached for the old faithful - magnolia... “Anyway, what’s wrong with yoghurt?” Himself took another gulp of ‘Lascivious Lobster’ and smacked his lips. “I’m seeing if dairy is why I occasionally blow up like a monsoon frog. Apparently,” she prepared to impart some of her research, “lots of people experience a reduced ability to absorb lactose after infancy. Leads to bloating, diarrhoea and farting.” “That’s attractive,” Himself chuckled and continued to consume his bizarre looking drink. “Although,” she hastened to add “I can neither deny nor confirm that I’m experiencing the whole spectrum of symptoms. I wouldn’t want to dispel any vestiges of mystery in our marriage.” “Does this mean,” he fixed her with a quizzical look over the top of the glass, “that you’ll have to declare this as well as the gluten thing when we go out to eat?” She understood his concern. At their last trip to a carvery she’d been asked if she had any allergies. “Well, a bit of a gluten intolerance, that’s all. Not serious,” she’d assured airily, anticipating the simple and low key receipt of the usual allergen sheet. But nothing so simple and low key.. When they reached the head of the queue, despite her protestations, the chef proceeded to cheerfully clean down his workstation and replace all of the utensils in the self-service veg section. It was a notable demonstration of duty of care. It was thorough. It was vigorous. It took quite a while... “The locals are getting restless,” whispered Himself, barely containing his amusement at her stricken expression. And her flustered “I’m terribly sorry,” to the people lined up behind her fell on deaf and hungry ears. There were frowns from the queue. Mortified, she quickly dished up her veg with the new serving spoons and scuttled back to their table, now very much aware that it was in the middle of the restaurant. “We can run, but we can’t hide,” Himself commented chirpily as he tucked into his dinner. She wondered if they’d best eat fast and slope off, but then noticed another couple arriving. Duly approached by staff they were asked, “Any allergies?” “Well we’re not very good with gluten…” came the answer. “Oh crikey,” Himself muttered happily. It was a lot busier by the time this new couple reached the front of the long queue. And the locals were looking even hungrier as the chef once more went through his good-natured, comprehensive and lengthy cleaning process. This time there were quiet mutterings in addition to the grumpy looks. The couple quickly served up their veg with the clean spoons and, revealing an impressive turn of speed, scuttled off to their table. Himself finished his meal and they left. “Woe-betide anyone who gets between a Brit and their roast dinner,” he laughingly observed. Some weeks later, they went to a pizza restaurant for their date night. As they confirmed their reservation, the helpful waiter uttered those fateful words.. “Any allergies?” As Himself started with “Well..” her reaction was immediate and almost a shout, “NO THANK YOU.” And then more quietly, “just a copy of the allergen menu please.” At Himself’s questioning look she smiled sheepishly and said, “after all that fuss I caused before, that, my darling, is my new ‘Allergic reaction’.”

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