Within the past two weeks, every single woman I see regularly has had the flu. As a matter of fact, I shared a bedroom with two of their germ-laden selves for three whole nights. They caught it from each other, and passed it along. They sneezed and coughed, chilled and ached. I ate and drank after them (particularly, from a large bottle of champagne down on the beach). Their kids also ended up with the flu. Some of them had it twice. But me? Did I get so much as a sniffle?
I'm convinced it's because vodka kills flu germs. (Side note: judging from the text I just got from one of them, who happens to be at the doctor as we speak, it also kills strep germs, as that was just diagnosed as the illness of the moment. Awesome.) Between my wine consumption and my martini consumption, I have become the Bionic Woman. Either that or I'm just too damn Badass to get sick, which is also a possibility. Who knows.
One of the things I do on a semi-occasionally-regular basis is see my Witchdoctor, Frank. Frank is my go-to guy when my headaches won't go away, I'm overstressed, or just need a good dose of crazy and my Mom doesn't have imminent plans to visit. Frank is a homeopathic-blues-guitar-playing-vegan-chiropractor whom I'm pretty sure I could take down in a fight (if he wasn't such a pacifist) and whom likes to tell me that I'll never get cancer if I just eat cauliflower. (Additional side note: I do not eat white vegetables. Therefore, I'm taking my chances with the cancer rather than the cauliflower. I mean, seriously. It's WHITE. Vegetables shouldn't be WHITE. It goes against the natural order of the world.) Anyway, on Wednesday afternoon I ventured across town to see Frank and see if he could fix my screwed up, still damaged ribs.
As usual, Frank was chatty. Very, very chatty. This would be fine if I didn't have both kids in tow, was trying to get to gymnastics class on time, and was starving due to my complete failure to eat anything more filling than a warm string-cheese I found in my handbag that morning on my way to work. One of the topics about which Frank wanted to chat was my health. How was it? Had I been sick? I explained to him that nope, I was healthy as could be, despite every one around me having been stricken with a strain of the flu that apparently likened to the bubonic plague. Frank nodded knowingly and informed me that this was due to my diabetes. My diabetes kept me well. I should be grateful for my diabetes.
What the fuck?
According to Frank, illness does not come from cold weather or flu season or anything else. Illness comes from people's bodies being compromised from the intake of sugar and alcohol. Sugar and alcohol alone weaken the immune system. Therefore, because I don't eat sugar and don't drink alcohol, I don't get sick.
Yeah, you read that right.
I nearly had an aneurysm at this nonsense. I said, "Frank. Please. I eat sugar ALL THE TIME. As we speak, I have an entire bag of Lindt's truffles in my car, and two more at home. I just bought the ingredients to bake a pie, and I ate four cookies for lunch yesterday. I consume Redi-Whip for breakfast on a regular basis, straight from the can. I EAT SUGAR. This is why my diabetic self has a damn insulin pump. SO I CAN EAT WHATEVER THE FUCK (for the most part) THAT I WANT. And alcohol? Seriously? SERIOUSLY? For PETE'S SAKE, the whole damn reason I was so gung ho on Suffolk reestablishing their curbside recycling program was because I got so fucking tired of having to haul off enough wine, beer, and liquor bottles to fill a damn truck EVERY SINGLE WEEK. I don't care about the environment. I don't plan to live long enough for our murdering of the planet to impact me (obviously-- hence the chocolate and the drinking). I just don't have a trash can big enough to hold both the trash AND all the bottles. Clearly your theory is WRONG. I'm just BIONIC."
And I am. I mean, think about it. We all know something about me isn't quite right. We all know that my awesomeness surpasses any possible boundaries of even an excessively superior human. If anything, the sugar and alcohol make me MORE FUCKING AWESOME (anyone who has spent drunken time with me--especially if I'm wearing a Catholic schoolgirl skirt and a push up bra--will tell you that.) It goes hand-in-hand with the whole idea of "that which doesn't kill me, makes me stronger." I've been diabetic for 23 years and the sugar and alcohol haven't killed me yet, but rather made me stronger (bionic). Clearly.
Jesus. People are ridiculous.