“It is gluten free!” She stared at the overpriced bread. I wasn’t having it.
“It’s bullshit!” I retorted, “Damn it if I pay fifteen dollars for a loaf of bread.”
“But its gluten free!” as if saying it twice changes things.
“Do you even know what that means?” I was just to hung-over to hear this. I met this girl a week ago at some party. She looked in my fridge one day and said we were going shopping. I told her fine as long as we stopped at the liquor store. That fifteen dollars could go a long way there.
“Yeah! It means it’s healthy!” Poor naïve girl.
“It’s for people who are allergic to gluten!” My head was pounding and the lights still burned even with my cheap dollar store sunglasses on. We were making such a scene in the grocery store. People were looking but so obviously trying to hide it.
She stared at me as my words sunk in. She was in sweats and a tank top. Her hair was in a ponytail and frizzed a little on the sides. She must have looked crazy to bystanders. She huffed and stormed off to the direction of the bread aisle. I didn’t follow her.
Instead I stood there, hung-over with shades on pondering a question: What if I got a tattoo that said ‘Gluten Free’ above my cock?