To the boy running away:

I hope your mom packed you a liverwurst sandwich.

I hope you get eaten by a Piranha Plant when you next play Super Mario Bros.

I hope the class finds out about Mr. Hoppy, the pee-stained stuffed rabbit doll you’ve been sleeping with since you were 2. I’m sure the girl you like would be very interested in knowing all about Mr. Hoppy. What’s her name again? Emma?

I hope a televised presidential address cuts right into a crucial moment in your favorite TV show.

I hope you wake up with incurable bedhead.

I hope you have an unstoppable case of the giggles during Sunday mass.

I hope you step in gum.

I hope it’s fresh gum that had just been spat out. (READ MORE)

I joined Tu Diabetes recently.

If you feel like your page is being spied on by a guy sitting on a bench across the street in a grey overcoat and a newspaper with two holes cut out for eyes , well, it has. It's me.

I've been snooping around in the parents of kids with type 1 group, ogling your A1cs.

I've spotted some very nice ones.

Seeing such a selection gets me in that envious, wanting mode - the way I get when let loose in a good record store.

"Whoa! 6.8! That's rare. I don't have this one."

"Wow, 7.2! I don't have this either. I thought they broke up?"

"Ooh, a 7.0 live in UK bootleg. I have to get this!"

"This 7.4 is also pretty cool. I only have their 8.7 and their 8.9."

But these desirable A1cs must be returned to the shelves. (READ MORE)