She waddled up to me, breathing entirely from her nose and leaning heavily on the countertop.

“Excuse me?  I just had a C-section a few days ago and I’m not feeling very well,” She blew her nose on her handkerchief.

I was waiting at the counter at Starbucks for my pretentious grande-sized (read: medium) non-fat chai tea.  Three dollars and fifty cents.  About the price of a gallon of gas.  What a racket, this coffee thing.

“Um, … okay.  Are you okay?  Do you need help?”  I asked.

“Yeah.  My husband works over at the courthouse and I need to call him but I left my cell phone at home and there isn’t a pay phone anywhere near here and I can’t walk very far.  Can I use your cell phone?”

“Sure thing.  Let me just go over to my table and grab it.  It’s right over th…”

She frowned and gestured towards my jeans pocket.

“No, your cell phone?  Is that okay?”  She blew her nose again and pointed again at my pocket.  Where my pump was clipped.

“Oh, this isn’t a cell phone.  Listen, my cell phone is right over there and I’ll just go grab it…”

She frowned again.  “It looks like a cell phone.”

“It’s not.  It’s an insulin pump.  I’m a diabetic.”

Raised eyebrow.

“Instead of taking insulin injections, I wear this device and it routes the insulin into my body directly.  Much easier than all the shots.”  Smiled to diffuse the situation.

Silence from my C-Section Friend.

“I like it. Never seen one of those before.”  She blew her nose again.

I trotted off to retrieve my cell phone and she waddled off to make the phone call to her husband.  As her phone conversation escalated and the entire Starbucks heard her hollering at her husband at the courthouse – “I had a freakin’ C-Section for your enormous baby and all I want is for you to come and pick me the f*@% up!” – I smiled at the opportunities to educate others that diabetes affords me.

It’s cheaper to educate than to buy a cup of chai, that’s for damn sure.

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