To The Woman Staring:

You can look away now. We mean you and your family no harm. We come in peace. I assure you, the soft, black case with little rockets on it we are unzipping and spreading open does not contain materials to construct plastic explosives. You can look away. The boy is safe. We are not trying to hurt him. You are not witnessing a public display of cloning. I promise you. My wife is merely testing my son's blood sugar. It's something we do quite often. If you must know, he's 268. Surely you've seen blood before. Haven't you? Because, I have to say, you are looking at us right now like we're a decomposing octopus.

Seriously lady! Why don't you take a picture? It lasts longer. No, really, grab your camera. Quick! You can still get the blood in mid-drip. Do your kids want to get in the picture? There's some room in front. Just crouch down a bit. OK, smile everyone! CHEEEEEEEEESE!

The thing is, I really don't mind when strangers watch us testing my son's blood sugar. In an odd way, I like it. I like that it gives us an opportunity to open some eyes and spread some awareness that this sort of thing is out there. But normally they turn away at some point and move on with their lives. Not you though. You are staring at us with the same unfiltered curiosity that a child stares at a one-legged man.

Why not just take out your sketch pad and a box of pastels. Call it Still Life With Diabetes. We can hold this position if you like. My wife with pricker against thumb. Me, ripping open alcohol wipe. Daughter picking up juice box that fell on floor. Youngest son squeezing his penis like it's a well-shaken bottle of Champagne because he's been holding it in for the last four hours and refuses to go on the potty.

Go ahead. We won't move.