Sugar, Sugar ~ The Archies

The following is a guest post written by my friend Becca. Everyone give your love to Becca in the comments.
I laughed so hard at this story. Every single time I heard it. And I wanted to share.


This is what happens when JB goes camping.

On Friday night, we sat around the fire roasting hot dogs and devouring them until our bellies were full and happy. Then we decided that it was time to pull out the S'Mores.

JB had never had a s'more before. So, of course, we had to introduce them to him, or else the entire first-time camping experience would have been incomplete.

We helped him roast two marshmallows to absolute perfection: golden crispy brown on the outside, melted to gooey bliss on the inside.
Then we put it on graham crackers and chocolate and squished it together and handed it to him.

His reaction was priceless.


He devoured the s'more, getting marshmallow all over his face and hands. Then he devoured another. We also devoured s'mores and marshmallows, because they are amazing and you have to eat a lot of them to have a proper camping experience. Then, temporarily satisfied with our massive ingestion of sugar, we sat and watched the flames.
That is when JB crouched on the ground and started rubbing dirt on his face.


"I am a WILDERNESS MAN!!" He roared while gesturing wildly. He kept scooping up dirt and rubbing it all over his cheeks and forehead. We stared at him.

"What the heck are you doing???" we asked.

He looked up at us, his eyes wide and slightly glazed, with a manical glint to them. "I am a wilderness man!" He repeated.

At this point, we knew something was horribly wrong.
"HOLY CRAP, have you CHECKED your blood sugar lately?? Did you even take insulin for the s'mores?"

JB's eyes got even bigger, but his voice was small. "Uh... no...."

He quickly got out his diabetes kit. His hands were shaking while he pricked his finger. No blood came out. He started squeezing his fingertip, trying to get enough blood to do a sample. All of us stood around him expectantly, fearing the worst.
"Come on, blood," he chanted, "come on!"

Finally, he was able to coax enough blood out to get it on the strip. He popped it into the tester. It silently analyzed his blood and we waited tensely.
Beep.
"Hi," said the tester screen.

"Uh oh. That's... really bad," JB said.
"What does that mean?" we demanded.
"I don't know exactly, but the nurses said that 'hi' is really, really bad. It's when it's too high to count. Usually that's over 600."

All of us panicked. "What are we gonna DO??!!! Don't DIE!"
Then someone said, "Are you sure that's accurate? Did you wash your hands before testing?"
JB paused in getting out a massive shot of insulin. "Uh... no."
We hand JB wipes, and he carefully cleans his fingers. He tests again.

"128," the tester said.

It turns out that the first time, JB actually tested a marshmallow.

He also rubs dirt on his face for no apparent reason.