What I learned this week? I hate asking questions at restaurants. I've always despised people that made servers' lives hellish, despite the fact that a good friend of mine is infamous for this very behavior. For those of you who don't know about "the shrimps incident" consider yourself blessed.
I prepare most of my meals at home. Most weeks I don't buy lunch at all. And if my boyfriend is traveling or in Florida with his kids, I don't usually eat at restaurants at all. We spend at least every other weekend together, which is always when I tend to indulge the most (usually on his dime *cough*), even though cooking together is one of our favorite activities. But recently, the weekends (and weekdays!) between have been full of restaurant outings as pretty much all of my friends are summer babies. On top of that, after a difficult month of May largely spent mourning the ending of a friendship, I had really recommitted to some old friendships that hadn't been on my radar in quite some time. Which quite happily meant reunions over wine and food in restaurants. Which translated to me scouring menus and ordering many salads with oil and vinegar dressing because I felt strange asking questions. Don't get me wrong, I love a good salad but I love going to restaurants and trying new things/recommendations. It's time to speak up, fo sheez.
It just feels strange telling my server, friends of friends and others with me when out and about that I have this allergy. Which is really an autoimmune condition rather than an allergy. I've always been pretty private about health struggles and this feels no different. But unlike other troubles, I have to get used to wearing this one on my sleeve so that I'm not sitting at birthday dinners half moping. And reconcile with myself that it isn't weakness or overdramatic to show others that I'm committed to this while turning down their good intentions.
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