Lamest. Excuse. Ever.

 Well. Looks like I have an out now.

Looks like if I ever say anything blatantly racist or sexist or otherwise ignorant (not that I ever would, except for the last), I have the perfect excuse. 

My blood sugar made me do it.

You've probably heard by now about the high school basketball announcer in Oklahoma who spewed the n-word into an open mic the other night, because some of the girls from one team took a knee during the national anthem. This gets certain people all exercised, because the anthem is Sacred and Holy and the Troops and the Flag and what-not.

So here was this announcer, calling a bunch of high school girls the n-word and dropping a few f-bombs too. And then, after the backlash hit, blaming it all on his Type 1 diabetes.

A sugar spike was the culprit, he said.

Now, I do not have Type 1 diabetes. But I'm just over the line for Type 2 diabetes, the legacy of too many ballpark hotdogs and McCholesterol meals eaten in the car on the way to one game or another. If you are what you eat, I am a Bavarian cream with a bacon cheeseburger chaser.

But at least the elevated blood sugar I got from all that gives me a handy excuse.

Those bleeping-bleeps I utter when the mower won't start?

Blood sugar.

That f-bomb I unleash when the ATM eats my card?

Blood sugar.

All the exciting adjectives I used to spew (in front of multiple witnesses!) when my laptop blue-screened me on deadline?

Blood sugar.

See, the devil didn't make me do it, your honor. It was that second glazed.