My A1C crept up to 5.7, so apparently that means a new chapter of culinary austerity begins.
My A1C crept up to 5.7, so apparently that means a new chapter of culinary austerity begins.
The least pleasant surprise of the evening is how unforgiving the metal plate attached to the front row barrier would be. My feet hurt SO. BAD. I did okay getting to the car, partly because I had to and partly because I hadnβt sat down yet, but I can barely put weight on them now that Iβm home.
My current hypothesis is that bourbon will fix it.