Humor: The five stages of grief when you find out you're lactose intolerant

The first stage is denial—the inability to believe that the food you've loved for so long can suddenly hurt you.

Stage two is anger. Rage rises in your breast because of the betrayal of one's own body and the fact that time is catching up. Isn't it enough that knees hurt? Why must approaching death mean the departure of ice cream?

Along comes stage three, the bargaining. Talk to whichever gods you choose. It doesn't matter. None of them will listen as you barter (or gamble) with the foods you are no longer allowed to have.

Trudge on down the road and you will arrive at the fourth stage of the process, depression. The world is dark and empty of meaning.

What's the point of going to Costco if you can't sample cheese? What will you eat at potlucks if not Eve's gouda casserole? Indeed, you've entered the darkest phase.

No matter what, humans are resilient, and we move on. The fifth and final stage, acceptance, is a bitter pill to swallow (particularly without the promise of whipped cream), yet it is so needed to ensure you don't reach for that cheddar because "It will probably be fine." Trust me, it won't.