I Am a Man, and I Eat Women’s Nutrition Bars When I’m Sick

“Can I have one of these?” I asked, holding up a box of Luna LemonZest® nutrition bars.

“Are you sure?” Carrie asked.

“It’s all I can stomach right now.”

“You know, those are for women.”

“I don’t care; I feel like shit.”

“Knock yourself out.”

I retreated to the couch with a women’s nutrition bar in hand, shivering under my pajamas. I pulled a down comforter across my lap—the weight of the blanket felt good and helped muffle my cold chills.

I examined the packaging of the women’s food product I was about to eat. Against a yellow background, in royal blue letters, the front read “Luna LemonZest®,” with three silhouetted women striking sprightly poses of say, gymnastics, yoga, and performance dance. A crescent moon and stars shone in the background. The product’s marketers had combined the words lemon and zest into one word, and then followed their hybrid-flavor name by the registered trademark symbol—a superscript “R” with a circle around it—so that anyone who dared to borrow it would surely draw the ire of Luna’s corporate lawyers. Or, perhaps the lawyers handled trademark infringements by releasing the silhouetted women, who, as it happened, were actually practicing karate, kung fu, and jujitsu. Maybe they were highly trained ninjas, who could slip into my condo under cover of night, slit my throat without Carrie waking up, and steal away into the darkness.

I wouldn’t want to tangle with them, I thought, and I let out a spasm of coughs.

The top of the package read, “The Whole Nutrition Bar for Women™.” The word for was italicized, it seemed, to emphasize it wasn’t meant for consumption by anyone except women—not children, not boys, not geriatrics, and certainly not grown men, even sick ones. This nutrition bar was for . . . women.

What’s the worst that could happen to me? I wondered. Surely, they’ve tested these things on men? I mean, could I sprout man-boobs or something? Is that how it happens? Or, could my man parts fold in on themselves and turn into woman parts? No way. They must have anticipated the unknowing man running to the pantry during a commercial break looking for a quick snack and, voila, lemon-flavored snack bars. Perfect! No cooking. No prep time. Just grab it and go. Surely, they’ve anticipated this? Of course they did.

I flipped the package over and read the ingredients. No estrogen. No female hormones of any kind. Just a bunch of healthy stuff: soy rice crisp, organic oats, and lots of vitamins. A lifestyle testimonial neighbored the list of ingredients:

“To my mother, who has taught me the real meaning of ageless living; who enthusiastically began a career when the family left the house & today, at 80 years old, still works every day. I love you. –Author of ‘The Principles of Ageless Living,’ Dayle Haddon”

If it’s good enough for her, it’s good enough for me, I thought, and I began to wrestle with the package. First, one end. Nope, can’t get it. Then the other. Damn it, it won’t open.

“Son of a bitch,” I said.

Are you okay in there?” Carrie asked, calling from the kitchen.

“I’m fine,” I said.

My cold chills turned to hot flashes. The packaging had me all worked up. My skin was simmering apple cider, red and hot. I rested for a minute, silently reading the rest of the packaging:

“We believe that what we put into our bodies matters, food feeds our souls, lifts our spirits, nourishes and sustains us. That’s why we created LUNA, the blissfully good, whole nutrition bar for women—now with more fiber and less sugar. In just 180 calories, LUNA is 100% natural and meets many of the specific nutritional requirements women need everyday to maintain active lifestyles. Join us in healthy, joyous living! –The women of LUNA”

Sounds good to me, I thought. If I could only get the damn thing open.

I bit down on one end, clasping the wrapper with my teeth. When I jerked the package away to tear a hole in it, my teeth slipped off.

“Aw, come on!” I said. “Give me a break.” I erupted into a spasm of coughing, and my fever shot up again. It had been like this all day. One minute I was freezing, the next I was burning up. I felt like I’d been wrapped in alternately steamed and chilled towels.

“Do you need some help opening that,” Carrie asked, standing over me with a pair of scissors in hand.

“Yes, please,” I said, thoroughly defeated. Instead of taking the scissors, I handed the women’s nutrition bar to her so she could cut it open.

“Here you go,” she said, handing the naked bar back to me. “Let me know if you need anything else, okay?”

“Thanks,” I said, making sniffling noises.

My attention, though, was squarely focused on the unwrapped women’s nutrition bar in my hand. It didn’t look like a nutrition bar just for women. It was rice- and oat-colored, with white-lemon frosting on one side.

From the looks of it, I thought, it could swing either way really. What ever happened to gender-neutral nutrition bars anyway?

I bit a chunk off the end of the bar. It tasted . . . sweet. Rice and oats popped and cracked under my chewing teeth, and lemon frosting melted onto my tongue. After I swallowed this bite, I imagined all the vitamins and minerals nurturing me, like a mother, from my stomach, from the inside out.

I took another bite, and I laid across the couch, half of the bar still left in my hand.
It’s okay if I eat these, right? I wondered. I mean, I’m sick.

I began to sweat feverishly again. I rolled the blanket off of me.
Yeah, I told myself, I am a man, and I eat women’s nutrition bars when I’m sick.