G is for Glutened

I'm a plagiarizer. I stole the title of this post from Theresa's blog. Then tweaked it a little...
...

It's my fault, of course. My mum came into my study-room this evening and showed me a little tin of signature range stock powder, a product similar to this:

She'd come to ask if it was okay to use it in the gravy she was making for tea. I read the ingredients with my gluten-free scanner eyes. Onion flavour, it read, which contained wheat. I decided it would be okay - not too bad, and perhaps a little bit of the gluten wouldn't affect me.
Dinner was amazing - pork chops (wonders will never cease), home-grown potatoes, apple sauce. - Thanks, Mum.
And some particularly delicious gravy.
Later on this evening I was studying for my Political Science test on Friday - and felt the glutened feeling - the tight stomach and aching gut. After a while I realized I was feeling a bit off colour, and attributed it to that infinitesimal amount of wheat.
I was duly impressed that that tiny amount of gluten could do nasty things to me.. It certainly shows the power wheat possesses.

Later on this evening, after I'd given up studying (too many other things on my mind), I walked out to our living room and spied on the table one, solitary ferrero rocher chocolate, alone in its packet of three. Its golden packaging glistened, and I looked at it with a small measure of contentment. As there was only one left, mum and dad must have eaten theirs and left me with that one.
And then it hit me. The wafer. Hidden underneath that melting milk chocolate-and-almond coating, is a dangerously thin layer of gluten-filled wafer. Tarnation! I realized with a feeling of horror that Ferrero Rochers *must* be dead to me forever. Here's a clinical dissection of a Ferrero Rocher:
Later on this evening. Mum came into the living room where I was faithfully writing out the first part of this post. Then she did a lovely, lovely thing. She asked me if I wanted the Ferrero Rocher, and I then had to explain my predicament. Without much ado she took a knife and painstakingly scraped off the chocolate from the dangerous wafer-shell. Then she scraped off the shell from the nutella-coated hazlenut nestled inside. When this was completed, she handed me the finished product (minus the (did I mention 'dangerous'?) wafer), with the chocolate heaped up next to the almost-smooth nutella-covered hazlenut ball.
I love you mum. <3 It was incredibly delicious. I closed my eyes for several seconds, savouring that intense, melting experience, and the crunchy, toasted hazlenut..

- Lydie