I am eating gluten-free pretzels. I can't tell the difference. I thought I would never have pretzels again. I don't even like pretzels that much but that's the nature of restriction.
For the longest time—ten years or longer—I couldn't eat apples. They made my mouth itch. (It's a common cross-allergy in people who are allergic to birch tree pollen.) A few years ago, though, I could again. I went on a binge, even though I hadn't been all that big on apples before.
I have often quipped that if my doctor told me that I could no longer have Brussels sprouts, I would wail and complain. "Damnit, haven't I given up enough of my life for this disease? Is there nothing left? I won't give them up I tell you! ...wait. Brussels sprouts? I hate those things. I don't care! It's the principle of the thing!"
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I have often quipped that if my doctor told me that I could no longer have Brussels sprouts, I would wail and complain. "Damnit, haven't I given up enough of my life for this disease? Is there nothing left? I won't give them up I tell you! ...wait. Brussels sprouts? I hate those things. I don't care! It's the principle of the thing!"
It's *so* about the restriction.