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Posts Tagged ‘diabetes’

Just for the record, if you come to my house for dinner, and you are, say, allergic to peanuts? I will not serve you a pb&j and say, “just scrape off the peanut butter and eat the jelly side.” If you are watching your carbs, I won’t give you creamy, crusty chicken pot pie and say, “pick out what you can eat.”  It  would never occur to me to invite you to my house and not cook anything you can enjoy without repercussions like, you know, dying.

Apparently, I ask too much.

Friday night I got a phone call from my friend Joe. He was on his way out of town. “Hey! The girls are expecting you! I have to go do something more interesting than being with you, so I won’t be there, but give ’em a call and go on out for dinner!” Or something close. You know. I should say at this point that I wasn’t aware of being expected anywhere. There was a brief mention of getting together, but I’ve learned from extensive experience that Joe has great clouds of smoke blowing out of his arse, and I don’t listen to him any more. I go where he wants me to be only when he calls me and says he’s either there or on the way.

Ok, so. I called Joe’s wife, Emily. “Hey! Yeah. Joe told me Wednesday he had invited you for dinner tonight! Come on over! We’re having (something I cannot eat).”

*crickets* “Uh, I can’t eat that.” *more crickets* “Oh. Uh, well, I have (three more items which I cannot have).” “Nope, sorry…” “Well, what can I cook for you then?”  “I… um… well, I’ll just pick something up in town.” “OK! Come on when you get something.”

*rilly loud crickets as I hung up the phone* I was invited for DINNER. Three days ago. Um. Normally that comes WITH food, in my past experiences with such things, and it’s not as if Emily didn’t know I was coming.  I decided that since my diet is almost impossible to accommodate without going into a restaurant and sitting down to order, I would just eat what Emily had, and deal with the consequences. She already had a casserole in the oven, and I wasn’t going to ask her to cook something else just for me. That would be rude. When I got there, there was a creamy, crusty chicken pot pie with no veggies in it, just chicken and cream of chicken soup-type stuff. She told me to pick out what I could eat, which meant that I would have had about 6 little cubes of chicken on my plate. Even those would have been smothered in starch, my enemy (my blood sugar has taken a turn for the hateful), so I just said to heck with it and ate like a normal human. It was so darned good, I didn’t care what my blood was doing, as long as it wasn’t boiling or turning to mercury.  In her defense, she had opened a can of green beans and warmed them in a boiler. No salt, no seasonings of any kind. Just beans. Warm beans. I can eat beans, but ew.

Fast forward to Saturday afternoon. Joe called again, wanting to do the project we’d planned to do Friday night, before something more interesting came up. I went back to his place, and pretty soon it was dinnertime. Emily said, “Ok, everybody. We have rice, ravioli, or chicken pot pie. What would you like?” Again. They KNEW I WAS COMING. I told Emily Friday, “See you TOMORROW.” Luckily she had some hot dogs she was willing to bake for me, so I upped my cholesterol, but kept my blood sugar happy. Cuz really, what’s the point of hardened arteries if your blood sugar is high?

I’m not trying to be petty or picky or witchy or any other *itchy. I knew that I could have taken my own dinner tonight. Really, I did, and I knew I should have, so I am not upset or really even bothered much. It just struck me as odd. Maybe I’m stupid. Tell me. Emily has no idea I had any of those thoughts, and I was even able to suggest a bouillon cube for the beans when we were talking tonight. She said, “My kids don’t eat green beans. I don’t do anything to them, not even salt or pepper. Maybe that’s why they don’t eat more of ’em.” 

DUH. Uh, I mean, uh, Ahem. 

“Have you ever tried chicken bouillon in them?” I had to try. For the record? She cooks broccoli the same way. Dumps it in a boiler with some water. DOUBLE EW. Gots tuh have sum salt on DAT. Cheese canNOT make up for unsalted boiled broccoli. Criminy.

I love Joe and Emily. They are the closest thing to family I have without counting the cousins who only call when they want something. I just think sometimes their level of oblivion is beyond comprehension. Again, my expectations are most likely too high. I don’t think so, but I admit I’m a bit of a freak, and could be wrong.

I’ve talked with other people about the fact that it’s hard to find friends who can remember you exist when you leave their presence, and it seems like that’s a pretty common problem. I see lots of blogs where women are looking for a true friend or two. If everybody wants friends like that, why is it nobody can find them? Seems to me like the desire should create the supply.  I think about my friends ALL the TIME. I wonder where they are, how their days are going, whether or not they resolved that issue with the boss or the bank or UPS. I guess it’s too much to ask for 30 seconds of the same from them.

But I don’t think so.

Gosh, that sounds harsh, huh? How about we end this with a cute moment? Joe’s daughters were singing “Winter Wonderland” tonight, and when they got to “In the meadow we can build a snowman and pretend that he is Parson Brown,” one of them turned to the other and said, “I thought it was ‘pretend he’s Charlie Brown.'” We all cracked up at that. She’s the most blonde brunette I have ever met, and it totally made sense she would think “Charlie.”

Anyway. Happy Thanksgiving. May your holiday be full of starchy goodness and tryptophan, and in honor of Charlie Brown, popcorn and toast.

Oh, and great friends and family. Yeah. That, too.

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