I bought a new vacuum cleaner.
It was one of my first highly domesticated purchases and I was proud of the fact that I found a vacuum that looked pretty nifty, with it's bright blue handles and 12 lb body weight and "eco-friendly bag-less canister!"
Standing in line at Target with my cool new vacuum purchase, I was about seven people back from the register on a Thursday night. I was flanked on both sides by "impulse buys," including batteries, hand sanitizer, one dollar dvds featuring "Sharks of the Deep Blue Depths," and Easter candy that was 75% off.
The line was not moving very quickly. It's almost 8 o'clock at night. Man, I have a headache. The noises of Target dulled down to a cloudy whisper and wrapped around my head like a bandage.
Balancing my purse on the edge of the shopping cart, where my super-cool vacuum cleaner rests, I fish out my meter case, unzip it, and covertly ***** my fingertip.
The countdown. The result? 53 mg/dl.
Tricky little sucker, that low. Snuck up on me out of nowhere, but in retrospect, it was 8 o'clock at night and I hadn't eaten dinner yet. Anyone's body would be hollering for attention by this point. Mine wanted sugar. Fast.
The batteries weren't going to do much for me. I shifted my attention to the discounted Easter treats, honing in on the creepiest candy of all time: marshmallow peeps.
There's something altogether odd about little candies in the shapes of sweet farm animals, like chicks and bunnies. (Bunny farms exist, right?) I'm more comfortable with M&M's or Twizzlers, because they don't look like anything I'd want to cuddle with. However, time was of the essence and I needed some fast sugar.
I reached out a grabbed a box of NEW! green peeps. I popped a peep into my mouth and my teeth shuddered at the presence of such concentrated sugar. You don't even have to chew these things - they just melt in your mouth and peep their way down into your bloodstream. Trying to look like a grown-up, I wiped my mouth with the back of my wrist and unsettled the nest of sugar granules that had made my lips their home.
A few minutes passed. I popped a few more peeps, bringing my peep total to three. After a few more minutes, I tested to reveal a much friendlier blood sugar of 98 mg/dl. On the climb.
The line progressed. I paid for my vacuum and the tattered package of peeps that looked as though a wild lion had ripped them open. (I am robbed of my ability to properly open food packages when I'm low. Boxes of crackers are ripped open from the bottom, juice bottles are missing half their labels, and glucose tab containers never recover their original caps. I'm a diabetic in the wild.)
Driving home, with the vacuum in the trunk and the peeps respectfully strapped in on the front seat (yes, the guilt I had for consuming their brethren was a bit much), I thought about the peeps. I hadn't eaten peeps in almost ten years. I had forgotten how they tasted.
At a stoplight before the highway on-ramp, I reached over to the passenger's seat and ferreted around with my fingers until they clasped the box o' peeps. Snaking one more through the cellophane wrapper, I popped him into my mouth and actually tasted it. And it tasted good.
Big blood sugar-ups to my peeps.
(Sidenote: Peeps are now available in sugar-free style!)