Comes in two flavors:
Type 1: God hates you and your pancreas. It sucks, and the only way anyone can joke about it is by how much it sucks. It's not an excuse to get out of class, it's 'Dear Lord, I am going to pass out'.
Type 2: You got it from developing bad overeating habits in response to depression. The family history on both sides didn't help a whole lot either. You yourself then take control of your weight slowly through therapy, exercise, and relearning healthier ways of eating. Everyone assumes you got it because you ate too many twinkies, and not enough healthy things, like fruit. You don't even like Twinkies. And don't they realize that sugar is in fruit? Also, God hates you.
You and the Type 1 meet at a salad bar. A soft melody plays over the loud speaker. You gaze at Type 1's salad, along the rich greens of spinach decorated with a playful greys of portabello mushrooms. A little bit of dressing- not too much, but just enough. Eyes meet. Gazes linger. "I love spinach too," you murmur in soft tones. "Me too," says Type 1.
The afternoon is spent in delightful conversation about Mongolian heavy metal music and your shared love of the martial art of Bartitsu. As the sun begins to set, setting the sky in an orchestra of bright colors, you both hold hands, and decide that diabetes just sucks in general.
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