My brain will eat itself and I'll die - an Easter story

So Easter has come and gone again just as it has done ever since its inception.  It is, like all holidays, comfortingly consistent.  Well, as consistent as a holiday that seems to land on random Sundays can be.  Will it be in March this year?  April?  Who decides?  Is there a world Easter Czar that pronounces it's day and how does one get that job?  

Okay, I digress.  On with my Easter story.

Saturday night I got home after watching some friends kids and my husband turns to me and asks if I remembered inviting the missionaries over for dinner the following night.  What a silly question.  Of course I don't remember.  Do I ever?  And of course the following day would be Easter and I was now in charge of bringing a little piece of home to these poor elders who are serving so diligently our Lord and Savior, but, hey, no pressure right?  Did I mention that I got home that night at about 10 so I immediately felt slightly overwhelmed?  Being the man of the hour my dear, sweet husband offered to run to the store for anything I might need.  I thanked him profusely and told him I would, in payment for services rendered, make his favorite banana cream pie.  He was very excited and left immediately.

The next day was the sabbath but I had agreed to stay home and man the Ashton station.  Since I was missing any and all forms of spiritual uplift I decided to commit myself to making the best Easter dinner these Elders had ever had.  I would serve them to the best of my abilities.  I spent most of the day cooking and trying to keep the kitchen under some kind of control.  I did well if I do say so myself.  I even had everything ready in a timely manner for the elders arrival at 5:30.    

The elders came in, greeted everyone and sat down at the table.  Now, while the food was made it was not yet on the table.  Elder One (name changed to protect the innocent although "innocent" is a relative term here) looked at me sweating in the kitchen and said.

"Did we mention our dietary needs?"

Why no, no they hadn't mentioned "dietary needs".  There had been no "needs" mentioned at all accepting the obvious "need" to be fed.  

"No." I answered hesitantly hoping they would then say, "We are allergic to walnuts." To which I would answer with relief in my voice, "Oh that's fine.  I didn't use any walnuts."

"Elder Two can't eat protein."

WHAT?!?  I made pot roast!  That's like 4 pounds of protein!  Are you serious?

"What do you mean by protein?"  I asked although I already knew the answer - most if not all animal by-products contained protein as well as a host of other sources.  I was biding my time hoping against hope that his condition would be miraculously cured in the next few seconds.  It wasn't.

"I can't eat protein."  Elder two explained in a very non-explanatory way.  

So you wont be eating my 4 pounds of cow?  Or my cheese sauce that I have smothered on the cauliflower?  Or the banana cream pie that is chock full of dairy?  

"What can you eat?"

"Fruits and vegetables."  He answered.

Fabulous.  The only vegetable I have is covered in a very offensive (but tasty) cheese sauce.  So we took the only option available to us.  We gave him a salad which really amounted to a lot of lettuce with some semi-oldish italian dressing (no ranch for this one).  Nothing says Easter like a small amount of lettuce on a dinner plate with a dressing that could very well be older than my children. 

As we all sat around the table enjoying our various dinners I felt prompted to ask, "So what happens  to you when you eat protein?"  I was thinking perhaps he got a nasty rash, hives, some swelling, maybe his throat would close causing a panicked call to 911.

"My body can't break the protein down so my brain will begin to eat itself and I'll die."

Oh.  Well.  Goodness.  That's not good, is it?  But, hey, at least you wont get a rash.