i am flea. just flea. we all have the same name... flea. as you've probably guessed, i'm not your usual flea. i refuse to be a slave to tradition, peer pressure, anatomy, family shame or science. as a result, i do what i want... including, and especially, with my food. normally humans would be my prey, stalking them much like our distant cousins, the vampire. instead, they are now my guides on the great traveling dog of life, taking me to new places never dreamed of, to experience tastes and gastric sensations best left to flea fantasy writers.
unfortunately, my adventure amongst the cattle hit a snag. after a particularly wild night gorging myself on a crumb of the most delicious red velvet cake, i was horrified to discover that i'm gluten intolerant. devastation. wild anger. explosive flatulence. grief. self pity followed by cursing. more grief. acceptance.
then it hit me... i do what i want. why couldn't i find a host family that was also suffereing from gluten aggression. so that's what i did. i hopped a ride on a succession of mangy dogs followed by a particularly feral cat before finding my new family. the woman cooks like crazy and never stops talking about gluten. i'm home.
i'm keeping a record of what they make and how i feel about it. i won't hold back. this is for history.