So, I thought I’d had my food choices nailed down for our Alaskan cruise. During registration I’d listed gluten-free and sugar-free as my food restrictions. Each evening I would be able to order dinner for the following night according to my diet. Easy peasy, right?
The waiter assigned to our early dinner dining was wonderful. Every night during dinner he and the Maître hovered over me like two angels making sure I had a variety of gluten-free and sugar-free choices to order for the next evening.
Desserts were a little boring, but…no big deal. I could handle it.
The extra care from our waiter and the Maître flattered my need for attention and my diet.
Meals were going nicely until Day 6 of the 10-day cruise. I longed for a big, crunchy-on-the-outside, soft-on-the-inside freshly baked dinner roll. Or a dinner quiche. (I could tolerate gluten if kept to a minimum.)
The pastries in the International Cafe needed me. I longed to do more than just drool over them as I ordered a latte’.
And my husband wasn’t shy about enjoying EVERYTHING edible. He was fast becoming my least favorite person to dine with.
But our waiter and the Maître shut their ears if I lingered over a gluten or sugar infested item on the menu. They’d been assigned to protect my honor and my diet. They weren’t going to let even a crouton land on my plate.
They were quickly changing into the gluten-free, sugar-free Nazis.
By Day 6 I was bent on rebellion.
I left my husband napping and headed down to the lunch dining room. (Different dinning room for lunch…same waiters.)
I surveyed the array of china nestle on white tablecloths and hustled over to a single table in a corner far from where my usual assigned waiter was serving lunch.
I knew he wouldn’t see me behind the ornate pillar situated between my little table and his territory.
The chicken was wonderful, but the dessert menu captivated me. Bread pudding. Grandma Bessie used to make bread pudding. I hadn’t had any in years.
Glancing over the dining room, I sneaked a peek around my pillar to make sure my gluten-free, sugar-free Nazi kept to his side of the dining room as I ordered my bread pudding from the unknown waiter attending my little table.
Scared I’d be discovered and assigned to the cruise basement, I gobbled the bread pudding up and hid the offending plate under my napkin on the table.
The bread pudding was really tasty—almost as good as Grandma Bessie’s.
My cruise ship rebellion felt so liberating
I’d had my gluten-sugar fix and no one was the wiser.
That evening I slid into my usual dinner seat next to my husband and smiled as my favorite gluten-free, sugar-free Nazi waiter put a cloth napkin in my lap and set a lovely, healthy dinner before me.
As he walked away I heard the Maître’s voice behind me softly say, “Oh, Ms. Susan…I saw you enjoying your lunch by yourself today, but I didn’t want to interrupt your privacy. You looked so happy.”
Then he chuckled and handed me a list of gluten-free, sugar-free choices for the following evening. Cruise life was back to normal.
Find one mild, humorous rebellion story hidden in the folds of your life. Make sure it contains something that illustrates YOU and YOUR struggles. Tell it to someone.
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To growing, shaping, and sharing your stories,