Ignorance Bites

“Ohhhhhhhhh,” the ignorant boy/girl/man/woman draws out the word.  “You have the bad kind,” they say, a scrunched up, disgusted look on their face.

“I feel so bad for you.  You poor thing,” another boy/girl/man/woman/dog/cat/ferret would say.  Their eyes telling me the only reason they even brought it up: to be able to sleep at night, thinking they did good in their life.

“You use… the pump?” a look like there is something bitter in their mouth displayed on their face.  “You know that’s cheating, right?  Using the pump?”

“Three adult menus and one kid’s?” the server says with a condescending tone in their voice.  It’s not like there’s a 13 year old standing in front of them.  Nope.  Just a little kid, instead of a short teenager.  I guess this is off the diabetic topic, but still something that enrages me.

All of these ignorant, off-based words are so hurtful.  All of them have been told directly to me, or to my mom.  And I’m sure there have been plenty behind my back.  Ignorance is so annoying, and it comes to play in anything, any disease you may have.  All of them.

One of these comments, the “Pump…  Cheating…  Oh…” one, was from a referee in a soccer game of mine.  She is also the woman who, at my sister’s 8^th grade awards night, undermined her “Principal’s Award”.  This award is given to only two students, boy and girl, out of the entire 8^th grade class, almost 800 kids.  And the female version was given to my sister.  And according to this idiot woman, Jessica only received it because, basically, she kissed all the teacher’s butts.  Which was not true, and only said because well, her daughter received only one, tiny little award.  Poor thing.

All the other comments were said to me so many times.  Ugh.  And the kids menu thing?  Gosh, it makes me so angry.  Can ruin my entire meal, just because some stupid little waiter thinks I’m a first grader.  Can I help it that I grew 1.78 centimeters in a year (my mom just told me I’m obsessed with that number.  Sadly, I am)?  I’m so pissed right now, I’m putting an obscene amount of pressure on the keys.  Now I’m clenching fists in a tight, white ball.  So annoyed.

It happens all the time.  And used to not bug me as much.  But now, kills me.  Absolutely makes me die with anger.  I’ve got to go now, too heated up.  Toodles, my blaudience, blog-audience!  It’s so cool I made that up, like right now.  That’s just how I roll.