Well, that was a fine howdy doody yesterday at the Celiac Disease Foundation conference. Holy moly, the gluten-haters were out in droves and I got to meet some of YOU guys. My awesome readers and fighters in the crusade against crapping your pants. You. Are. Awesome. See above for some of the awesome, but rest assured there are many more of you. Many, many, more. One of whom brought me this gluten-free churro cupcake that’s only made once a year, on May 5th in Pasadena.
There were, however, a few uncomfortable moments that naturally come when you’re out trying to hock your book called Gluten Is My Bitch: Rants, Recipes, & Ridiculousness for the Gluten-Free. Not to be an ageist, because I’m still chuckling over the septagenarian who screamed in delight when she saw my book and promptly called me a bitch. She was awesome. But between the mom who was shielding her tween from my booth, and the gentlemen who asked me what I meant, exactly, I realized I might have some ‘splaining to do. So I’ve worked it out, by age.
The Older Generation
This kind man was not the only of the elder crew who was confused by my title. (Again, I have plenty of fans of all ages, who are on this tip. Yet.) After I sent my mother my book she was so proud she showed it all over the assisted living facility. And then she had to explain it to them. Yet, because of that gd dementia, she wasn’t sure what she was explaining. She struggled a bit and then said, “It’s like irritating, right?”
My first thought was to go deep with the explanation, and then I thought, do I really want to explain prison rape? And how it is somehow now considered funny? Not the rape, the phrase, and, oh never mind. Also annoying? My mom isn’t that old. If it weren’t for this gd dementia, she would have gotten the joke. She would have been appalled, but she would’ve gotten it. So what I said to the gentlemen at my booth was this: I take control of it, so it won’t take control of me. That guy was still confused, but what am I supposed to do? Go back to the prison rape thing?
As you can see my own kids are quite comfortable around the GIMB.
Of course my daughter calls it “Gluten Is My Bench” and my son can’t read. I also told a nice lady—who was very concerned about her children—that my kids don’t hear me calling my husband a bitch around the house, and vice versa, so they have no idea the larger context of the word. As long as the hubs and I refrain from cursing each other out on the regular, I think my kids will get that this is a word for a funny book title, and is not meant to harm anyone, least of all, women. For now I (again) avoid the prison rape analogy, and go with “I hate gluten, man.” And everyone nods and agrees that gluten, is indeed, my enemy.
I’m just skipping everyone over the age of 16 and under say, 90. You guys get it. And if you don’t, well you see sometimes in prison one inmate makes another inmate (presumably the weaker inmate) his “bitch” and basically rapes him. It’s horrible, obvs. But at some point this phrase of “making someone my bitch” crossed over into popular, non-incarcerated culture, and became a term anytime you wanted to kick ass and take names. Proper usage: “My vegetable garden is my bitch, guys” or “I just made table tennis my bitch.”
All right, everyone clear? RAD.
Gluten Is My Bitch comes out tomorrow. TOMORROW. WHOOO-HOOOOOOO!!!!!