What the random ..?

I snack a lot; nibble on small things like crackers or grapes or, OK, cookies, because if I don't I have problems with hypoglycemia. Do not be alarmed. I do not have diabetes. I just get this anxious feeling, sweaty and hungry and tired and ... static-y. Floaty? Like blinks wake me up in a jolt?

I don't know how to explain it, other than some people take illegal substances to feel this way, and here I get to feel like this for free. I really am quite lucky.

And Dave, he compares this to his phantom spells of the bubonic plague and the black death. As if the three were comparable.

Hello, Dave, mine can be proven by science. Your diseases have been pretty much eradicated among our population.

But, regardless.

"My throat is killing me," he said.

I say nothing, as I'm staring off into space thinking about where I put my cell phone.

"What? Don't look at me that way! I do! I don't say that all the time!" he says.

"I didn't, what? I didn't say anything."

"You gave me that look like 'here he goes again.'"

"I did?"

"I don't look at you like that when you say you have to eat something or lay down and you get crabby."

"What? Wait, what just happened? What does your throat have to do --"

"Whatever. You don't believe me. I am dying of (what did he say? bird flu?) and you don't believe me."

My eyebrows scrunch together.

"So I'll see you in a few hours," he said, snapping out of his black death mood, kissing my head and then walking away to go back to work.

I felt a bit like I'd been a victim of a drive-by emotional outburst. Like maybe I should check myself for bullet wounds or, more likely, germs. And, wait, is that MY throat hurting? What the.