That’s a quote, not a nightmare. Well, it is in fact a
nightmare, but it’s also what I heard this morning as I was picking up a coffee
– black, please – at Dunkin’ Donuts in New Haven’s Union Station.
Nine sugars!
Is it any wonder that America is suffering from an epidemic
of Type 2 Diabetes?
Nine sugars. Geez.
Now I’m not one to talk. I was diagnosed with diabetes
several years ago and I do eat badly sometimes. But a person who orders a
coffee with nine sugars likely drinks it that way all the time, so there’s no
escaping the reality, or, likely, the effects, of her choices.
Nine sugars -- in twelve ounces of coffee. How is that
possible?
Again, I am guilty of loving my sweets. Please don’t tell
Don, but the saddest thing about him not joining me in DC is that he won’t be
bringing me Cream Horns from Westhampton Bakery in Richmond. I love them with a
passion equal to what some men bring to sports contests. I was so looking
forward to one.
That’s a lie. I was looking forward to half a dozen.
I blame this all on my Mom. She was a graduate of the Fat-Baby-Is-A-Healthy-Baby
school. She might have gotten an advanced degree.
Scene: the Foery family household.
Dramatis personae: Mom, my friend Chuck, me
Mom: Have some more chicken and rice, Chuck.
Chuck: No, thank you, Mrs. Foery; it was delicious, but I’m
quite full.
Mom: You didn’t like it?
Chuck: No, really, it was wonderful, but three servings was
enough.
Mom, picking up the bowl: Here, Walter, pass this to Chuck.
So it’s not my fault. Really, it’s not. I was trained to be
this way. And I’m an Army brat after all, so I obey orders.
Hmmm, I wonder if the café car still has donuts.
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