For those of you who don't know me, I blog about life with my 13 year old autistic son. When Jill told me I would be guest posting, I was honored. If by "honored" you mean "terrified". Jill scares me, so I knew I had to come up with something brilliant. We flitted around the idea of me swearing a lot, insulting some of her nicest family members, or going the "Lynn Route" and pissing off large groups of people all at once. Instead, I decided to post about the events of last Wednesday.
Wilford, Me and The Burger King
They say there are no coincidences in life so I guess I shouldn't be shocked that Griffin has formed a bond with Wilford Brimley, he of diabetes supplies fame. Big Daddy has had diabetes for about 15 years now. In reality, I don't have diabetes so much as diabetes has me. I was first diagnosed when I was in my early thirties. Recently, more often than not, diabetes has kicked my ass.
Due to my condition, I see my Endocrinologist fairly regularly. The day before Thanksgiving was no different. The girls - Lil Sis, Mrs. Big Daddy and Big Nana - had plans for a girls only outing so I had to take Griffin with me to my appointment.
My Endocrinologist appointments are no big deal. He is usually on time and the entire, five minute, appointment can be summed as follows:
1. Weighs me.
3. Takes Blood Pressure.
5. Tells me I am fat.
6. Writes my prescriptions.
So bringing Griffin shouldn't have been a hassle. Just to make sure, I promised him Burger King for lunch after the appointment conditioned upon the following:
1. No loud laughing.
2. He does not mention to the Endocrinologist that we would be going to Burger King.
As we entered the waiting room, Griffin was busy confirming which Burger King we would be visiting and what his order was going to be. When I reminded him of the deal, he reminded me that he did not, technically, tell it to the doctor. Hmm. At this point, I thought I had a chance of sliding through the appointment without the doctor hearing of my lunch plans.
No such luck. Griff lasted all of about 30 seconds until the cork blew out and a hot steaming river of Burger King conversation starting flowing down the side of the mountain. By the end of the appointment, my Endocrinologist knew which Burger King we were going to, what Griffin was having, and the details of our plan to keep this information from him.
The two Whoppers I later scarfed down did nothing to console me.