The Blood Sugar Level is Right

Boy #2's girlfriend is in nursing school and she has joined forces with me in lording over the damn diabetics sugar intake. So much so that the husband fondly refers to her as the sugar nazi.

"Did you pick up milk?"
"Got it."
"Your arms look pretty full for just milk. What's in that bag?"
"Hide this from her."
"This" was a bakery box with 4 cinnamon rolls gobbed with icing.
"Didn't you hear Obama warn us of greedy surgeons lopping off diabetics feet left and right for monetary gain? And still you're going to look that danger in the face, laugh it off and eat ooey gooey cinnamon rolls?"
"Just one, the rest are for you guys."

Later that evening:
Pointing my finger at the husband, "He ate a cinnamon roll, see them out there in the kitchen?"
The girlfriend, "Did you take your blood sugar level? I'll bet it's high. I'm guessing two fifty at least."
Me, "I think it's one seventy...... no, one eighty-nine."
We turned our attention to Boy #2.
"I'm gonna say one dollar Bob."

The Damn Diabetic

"Wheat bread? Is dad a diabetic again?"
"Yeah, he's giving it another try. All the junk food is back in the usual hiding places."
The husband decided to give this living thing another shot. Since finding out a little over a year ago that he has diabetes, it's been an uphill battle trying to keep him alive. But I've persevered, because it is all about me anyway. I've always hid my chocolate, but I had to start hiding the potato's too.

Several times during this diabetic year he's told me, "I don't think I'm really a diabetic." With this look on his face like I was actually going to buy it.
"So you're more qualified than the man with a doctor's degree hanging on his wall to make this diagnosis? And the fact that all your siblings and your mother have diabetes, it just skipped you?"

I get no response to my logical questions. But I know when he's fallen off the diabetic wagon. He starts buying me huge Hersey Bars. These Hersey Bars never make it to my secret chocolate stash hiding place, he eats them. "Did you check your blood sugar today?"
"It's fine."
"Yeah? What was it?"
"It's fine."
"When was the last time you checked it?"
"Dear, it's fine."
"It's not like I like to nag you, you've brought it on yourself. I'm trying to keep you alive and this is the thanks I get, you damn diabetic."

It usually takes a "sugar spell" to snap him back into diabetic mode, which happened this week. So that's why I bought wheat bread, hid the chocolate and potato's and told him I loved him. Oh and I bought another issue of Diabetic Living.