carbs make me a more tolerant person

I had dinner at my parents' house on Thursday, just because I hadn't seen them in a while. My mom's a great cook but dinner with them has changed a lot since my dad discovered he's a diabetic. He is a tiny bit of a crazy person (I'm trying to be nice here; please go with it) and is now on a crusade to "beat" his diabetes. Apparently diabetes is not really a disease, it's some made-up thing that the world has created as part of a conspiracy against him. But he's going to show them. This means he eats about five things. (Please note: I cannot explain this away by telling you that my dad is in his 70s, even though he is. He was always like this).

Dinner conversation began with the usual political debate, which always amuses me. My dad and I agree on absolutely nothing and if I didn't look like an exact replica of him, I would demand a Maury paternity test ("you are NOT the father!"). But I was a bit on edge from the beginning because dinner was composed of about 30% protein and 70% vegetables. My father has turned their house into a carb-free zone. This is apparently step 1 of the diabetes-slaying program. I am an active human being; I need carbs to survive.

After the political discussion subsided, my dad pulled out a stack of articles he'd pulled from magazines and papers. I kid you not when I use the word stack. He wanted me to read these articles so that I would be fully aware of all of the dangers of modern life. As I mentioned earlier, my parents are alarmists. Since my dad's been retired for years, he has more than enough time to get up in arms about everything. Here's how the pile started:

- Mattel toy recalls: which toys and why (I have no children and no longer play with children's toys myself)
- sitting-next-to-an-office-printer-is-like-sitting-next-to-a-smoker warnings (I already lied to them about this one)
- counterfeit hockey helmets stories: apparently some are so poorly made that a hockey stick can fit through the cage and injure the wearer (I do not play hockey now nor have I ever played hockey in the past)
- story of some tourist who was travelling in Buenos Aires with a friend and took a cab on her own and ended up getting kidnapped (as you may remember, the cab warnings began years ago, so, while I feel sorry for this woman, I also despise her for giving my dad more fodder)

These random warnings were too much to bear without carbs in my system. Next time I visit I'm going to bring my own bread.

RainyBow

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SunnyShine note: OMG. I love Maury. I need help. It's my guilty pleasure. There is nothing more fromage than an hour of Maury paternity tests. I can't decide if I prefer it when the guy is the father or when he isn't. The trash talk and jumping around is so fantastic. Good times.