In recent years it has become easier to tell people what I can eat than to try and give an exhaustive list of what I can't. Now that lists are such a big part of my life, I find more and more of them. So here is a list of career choices that are off limits until my body is more reconciled to the whole eating project.
Covert Ops: Not only is an umbrella tip full of plutonium not necessary to remove me from circulation, but I have to broadcast the identities of my own personal kryptonites pretty broadly to anyone attempting to prepare food for me. "Whoa, there, Mr. Kindly KGB Officer, that's not SUGAR-YEAST-GLUTEN-FISH you're sprinkling on top of that salad is it? Because that would *seriously* mess me up, my friend."
Politician: There are more and less tactful ways of refusing to share a meal with another, and you can do your best to put everyone at their ease by smiling contentedly at them while they eat ice cream and you pound back yet another tall ice water, but the fact is few things are less conciliating than il dieto restrictivo. On the other hand, some voters might be refreshed by scandals not involving roly-poly little bat faced girls, so it could be worth a shot.
Diplomat: Inquiries about ingredients generally get translated as "My country wants nuclear war with your country."
Actor: There's a story that Tom Hanks refused to chew tobacco for a baseball movie, so the props guys had to come up with a blend of herbs which produced a similar expectorant. Happy ending to that story, but not even the most talented purveyor of things-which-seem-to-be-but-aren't can make spinach, cheese and beef look like a cupcake on camera.
Food Critic: Actually, I changed my mind on this one since the primary purpose of a food critic is to make restauranteurs long for sweet sweet death served up on a platter with a garnish of parsley, and this end is admirably accomplished by the restricted diner.
NB: I could eat the afore-mentioned dish, as long as the platter had been thoroughly washed first.
