Listening to Meghan Trainor’s “All About That Bass”…
Me: “That’s YOU! You have ‘all the right junk, in all the right places.'”
Eric: “Yeah.”
(Pause)
Eric: “I have you. Right here.”

Listening to Meghan Trainor’s “All About That Bass”…
Me: “That’s YOU! You have ‘all the right junk, in all the right places.'”
Eric: “Yeah.”
(Pause)
Eric: “I have you. Right here.”

Dating and living with a type 1 diabetic has been very educational. I now have no problem recognizing the symptoms of a low blood sugar. When it happens, Eric becomes very quiet and unresponsive, his eyes glaze over, and he is just generally disconnected from what’s happening around him. And there is a very clear pattern to the timing of these episodes.
They happen whenever I start talking.



Who told him?
Eric’s flight (to Georgia, not Florida. Apparently.) was delayed yesterday.

It wasn’t. Eric has spent 32 years on earth thinking that airplanes sit on a mat of tar before takeoff.

Eric: “I was going to make a joke on Facebook about how you’re now 2 years older than me again, but I didn’t think you’d want me to say your age on social media.”
Me: “Why wouldn’t I want you to say my age?”
Eric: “Well because…”
Me: “Because…??”
Eric: “Because…”

Today we went over to Eric’s old apartment to get rid of the last of his furniture before his lease ends on Thursday.
Eric’s super friendly neighbor (seeing us load the elevator): “Oh hey, man! Oh no, you’re moving?”
Eric: “Unfortunately, yeah. I’m moving in with my girlfriend.”
(Pause while I stand there awkwardly)
Eric: “Oh! I mean fortunately.”