I never really know what I’m going to blog about. Sometimes I wait for inspiration, and every day suspect maybe it won’t come. Like today, for instance…until I remembered a funny thing that I’ll say I’m blogging about but really it’s just a funny story and hope you enjoy it.
My mom’s birthday was Friday (in case you missed it; don’t worry I signed your name to the card) and my parents and my husband and I went out to dinner on Saturday.
We went to a fancy little place that was fun to try for a special occasion. They have a three-course prix fix menu… each of the courses has four options.
Lucky for us, the chef sent out an amuse bouche after we ordered and before our first course arrived. YUM. Seriously; who would have thought that cold squash soup needed a few leaves of Brussels sprouts and three drops of maple syrup? Sounds disgusting but was delicious.
So we’re eating and chatting and enjoying ourselves through our entrée course (have to love that my dad and I ordered “poulet deux” or something and my mom asks what the other thing on the plate is next to the chicken… it’s another piece of chicken! …guess which of the four of us didn’t take French class…), just like normal people. They weren’t huge portions so I don’t think I had taken any insulin for anything yet. (This was NOT an Olive Garden kind of place.)
And then after the entrée the waiter comes out with some sort of little drink for us—it was some sort of milkshakey cinnamon sugar sort of thing. I’m not sure what it was called, but let me tell you: WOAH was it sweet. I took one sip (of the two sips in the glass) and handed it off.
And me being me, I said something like “there isn’t enough insulin in my pump to drink that!” as I bolus for the sip I had just ingested. (Yes it was that sweet that I bloused for one sip.)
And we’re still all chatting along, talking about our days, and my dad asks me what my next course is. I had just been talking about where I ran that morning, so presumed he meant where I would next be running an organized race. I start telling him all about all of my plans for the next few months… and because he’s my dad, he lets me keep going until I’m done.
At that point he says: “well, that’s all well and good, but I was talking about your DINNER course; it’s dessert and I thought you were out of insulin.”
Oops.
Cheese course. And, I didn’t mean it; it was just a really sweet drink, Dad!
I thought it was funny. Maybe you had to be there. It’s just not something that someone who doesn’t have diabetes would even think about, so I thought I’d share it today.
