THE TEA IS COLD

Somewhere in the South, a gentleman probably named Jethro or Joe-Bob (so lets call him 'Jeth-bob') is pouring himself a large glass of sweet tea to go with his donut. It's the breakfast of champions. Every morning. Wakes him up right, soothes his soul, and keeps him regular. He stocked up before the snow hit. He's got enough tea and sugar to last at least a month. One teabag daily, which makes about a gallon, and five one-pound bags of cane sugar.
No, he's never worried about "dahbeets". That's something only Yankees get. Half of his neighbors have it, probably secret Yankees. They won't go the clinic in this weather.

[Clinic: Early stage renal disease because of 'dahbeets', all that sugar. Dialysis twice a week, subsidized insulin. ]

Shoot, he forgot about Momma. She's probably still on the back porch in her hammock!

He goes outside, where it's freezing and totally arctic, and sees a large snow-covered lump in the sagging hammock, all four hundred pounds of her. It snores gently.
Snow didn't even wake her up. She's got plenty of insulation.
Besides being a damned secret Yankee.
Dahbeets.


It strikes me that if you pronounce 'diabetes' with a Southern accent it sounds kinder and gentler. Dahbeets. Kind of soothing, not like something that could harm you. Go on, have another BIG glass of sweet tea. Don't worry your pretty little head about a thing, now.
Everything is gonna be all right. There there.

Dahbeets.

Does your pickup truck start in cold weather? Maybe you should take public transit, it's nice and warm with all those once-in-a-blue-moon passengers wedged together.
Sure, there's that smell, but as long as it's warm.

They smell sour underneath the deodorant, the perfumes and the colognes. Pockets of stale air. There's a buildup of ketones, including acetone, in the blood and expelled through breath.


Yeah, okay, I have no idea what the South is like.
I'm imagining all kinds of things, though.
I'll pass on the sweet tea.

I've heard it makes people crazy.



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