It was about 18 months ago.
I was away on business and staying in a hotel.
I hadn’t had that much to drink the night before but I kept having to get up for a piss.
I must have got up a dozen times.
I was pissing for Spain.
Something wasn’t right.
When I got home I went to the chemist and she gave me a simple blood test.
She said that I had diabetes and made me an appointment with my doctor.
She told me that all of that pissing was my body trying to get rid of the sugar.
My doctor made arrangements for a full set of tests and it was confirmed.
The Artful Cunter is damaged goods.
I was given a prescription for three different types of pills and a diet sheet to follow.
I asked how long I needed to take the pills for and she told me the rest of your life.
She cheerfully added, ‘so not too long’.
That’s when things changed for the worse in the Cunter household.
The wife insists that I stick to the fucking diet sheet and everything on it is fucking horrible.
If you are ever tempted, DO NOT eat brown rice.
It tastes like I imagine cat litter does.
Any chocolates or sweets in Casa Cunter are hidden away.
Chips and other fried foods are off limits.
The wife tells me that Queen Elizabeth I died of diabetes.
The fucking woman was 67 in a time when you died of old age in your 20’s.
When we go out to eat it’s a case of, “You’re not eating that!”
If I ignore her then I get accusing looks all night.
“You’re not going to have another beer are you? Don’t you think that you have had enough?”.
Well obviously fucking not because I have just ordered another one.
I used to be able to go away on business and not hear from Mrs Cunter for days.
But now she is on the phone 3 times a day.
Not asking about the hotel, city or work.
She wants to know what I have been eating.
Bless her.
She means well but I do wish that she would shut the fuck up.
Diabetes is a cunt.
Nominated by The Artful Cunter.
