A walk-through of the worst “allergic” reaction I’ve ever had. Editor’s Warning: mentions of vomiting.

It was inevitable. A 2Girls1Snack: Eating Something I’m Allergic To. Anyone with celiac disease can’t go more than a year without being utterly gutted (both figuratively and literally) by our indigestible protein: gluten. Yes, we do all we can to avoid it—but it gets us anyways. While it’s not medically defined as an allergy, the symptoms of being “glutened” are just as bad, if not worse.

It all started with a dinner at Wu + Nussbaum. I asked the waiter about the gluten-free options, and he pointed out two things on the menu: the sautéed bok choy and the vegetable noodle soup. I got the vegetable noodle soup, and the rest is history. (My guess is that the noodles were wheat noodles instead of rice noodles, and that the broth probably had gluten as well. Suffice to say, I’m never going to Wu + Nussbaum again.) 

It went how it usually goes. I felt fine, and then two hours later, it hit me out of nowhere. I was talking with my roommates, shooting the shit, chewing the fat, as one does, when all of a sudden I was overcome with an intense feeling of nausea. Thinking it was just anxiety, I laid down on my bed hoping to ride it out in time for the Bwog meeting. I thought wrong, ran to the bathroom, and subsequently threw up for the next three hours. I could be more explicit, but I think our readers are smart enough to imagine the severity of this reaction. 

I spent three hours in that bathroom. Mostly in the cramped stall, which left me feeling blindfolded to the outside world. People came and went. I was surprised at how many voices I failed to recognize. Everything moved like a Wong Kar-wai film. The only constant was my roommate and fellow Bwogger (bwoommate, if you will) sitting on a desk chair outside the stall, reading academic articles about starfish while listening to the iCarly theme on repeat. As for me, the abominable Taylor Swift lyric “Karma is a cat purring in my lap ’cause it loves me” played on a loop in my head. My entire body was dripping in sweat. Somebody came in and started playing unreleased Lana Del Rey in the shower. Another person asked if we were dyeing hair. My bwoommate’s hand appeared occasionally beneath the door, clad with baby wipes and Gatorade. This bathroom was the Tenth Circle of Hell.

Three hours in a bathroom stall does something to you. That stall and I have an intimate connection. We’re lovers, you may say. I could recognize the jagged cracks in the tile anywhere. The foreign stray hair in the corner. The elusive century-old stains on the wall. Dirty. Raw. O, my love, how long has it been since you were grouted? How long has it been since you felt the sweet touch of bleach? Of OxiClean? How long has it been since you were loved? 

Around 11:00 pm I couldn’t stand it anymore. There was no fluid left in my body. My bwoommate pulled out my desk chair and I sat in it, fleeing occasionally to the toilet again. Sitting up induced too much nausea, so I was reduced to a sort of fetal position, my head on my knees. My bwoommate said I looked like an anime character, which naturally made me feel even sicker. People walked in, took one look at me, and left. I eventually mustered up the courage to take a shower, afterwards putting on The Infamous Yellow Convocation Shirt and a pair of thin gray sweatpants in case I threw up again. The shirt was already stained purple from my bwoommate’s hair dye—it could take anything at this point. I collapsed on my bed and endured a few more agonizing hours until I succumbed to the lull of sleep. 

I know. I braved the waters of 2Girls1Snacking something completely vile and inedible. I didn’t want to, but I had no choice. I begged and begged. The Bwog Gods thought differently. From one malicious 2Girls1Snack stroke, I became the sacrificial lamb. I suffered for the salvation of our readers, so that you may know once and for all that Throwing Up Is Not Fun. I feel humbled to have played such an integral role in Bwog’s mission: that no snack should go ungirled. 

The Dreaded Snack via Bwog Staff