All Roads Lead To A Place Without Cheese

When I was nineteen, I bought a book for my Asthma that promised to heal my lungs. I had dreams of running - albiet very silly dreams - without getting an asthma attack after the first thirty seconds. I couldn't fathom what that was like. I was ready to do anything. Unfortunately for me, the book suggested the Candida Diet: a diet sans dairy, gluten and sugar.

This was difficult for me. I grew up on macaroni and cheese and peanut butter and jelly sandwhiches. Even though, at the time, I was dating a vegan and had expanded my diet considerably it was still heavy in pasta and cheese and things like tasty cakes and ding dongs. I failed quite miserably at the Candida Diet.

When I lived in Austin I tried again. I don't remember what prompted it, but I was remember I was working at Whole Foods in the bakery at the time and walking by the Pasta Bar (and then by the cheese department) was like having someone pull out my arm hairs one by one. Avoiding the freshly made donuts every day was like holding my hand over a lighter. I just couldn't do it - not to mention my miserable attitude was dangerous to anyone within a five mile radius. Again, I gave up.

Flash forward to France, a country known for five hundred kinds different kinds of cheese and bread at every single meal. This is a place where people walk down the street gnawing on their fresh baguettes and the scent of the patissieries (places strategically like Starbucks in America with one or two on every corner) beckons you with sweet deliciousness. I couldn't help but succumb to the culture.

I haven't gotten fat, really, because I'm one of those high metabolism freaks of nature (read: one lucky duck) but since I"ve arrived here my skin has been a terrible problem for me. It makes me terribly self conscious, and for a person with already dedicated self esteem issues this is more than troublesome. I know that people have worse issues than me - I know that - but I when Toad suggested I see his family dermatoligist I readily agreed.

Saturday morning I waited in a strange office for the man Toady fondly referred to as Yoda. I expected him to look like a squat little alien by his description, but the man I met turned out to be a simple Asian man who was nearly sixty but looked about thirty-eight.

"Your problem is not with your skin," he said after taking one look at me. "You have too many toxins, and they are pushing out your pores."

He asked me some questions about my eating habits, how many bowel movements I have per week, how much gas I have and if I had any discharge. I was disturbed that he was describing all of the ailments I have been suffering from for years now.

It turns out my colon hates me and all of the cheese I eat - and the bread and the sugary sweets - they are all clogged up in my large intestine. Since they aren't coming out the back door, they are seeking other routes of escape such as my face and back.

To be clear, he didn't forbid me from ever eating these things again but he did tell me to moderate damnit. And for the first month, while I am on the treaments he prescribed me, I am not to have anything yummy. Return to the torture.

It's funny to me, though, that my life keeps directing me to eat this way. The asthma, my skin, probably all of the problems I've had in the past with my delicate feminine parts - my whole body wants me to give up my favorite treats. But it must mean that I am really vain because only now - when it comes to my appearance - I think I will finally do it. You can call me Narcissus, but damnit after all is said and done I'll have a clean colon. Which is nice too.