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Daydreaming of true independence

With the Fourth of July approaching, I am in a festive state of mind. Why, you may ask? Because, as all of you know, diabetes simply doesn’t exist on holidays. That’s right, all bets are off and the concept of dieting is nothing short of an insult to our Founding Fathers.

This is a country built by free-spirited, adventurous types, who not only knew when a new nation needed to be formed but when a man needs to cut loose and enjoy the bounty of a good harvest. And in this great land, the harvest consists of steaks for grilling, chips for dipping and tons of beer and soda for chilling. So, I really do believe those wise old Founding Fathers would not want me piddling around eating raw carrots, celery sticks, and assorted, unsalted nuts on a holiday when we should be celebrating our wild, wonderfully diverse independence.

And to me, that independence means the freedom to shove a hamburger into the nearest hollowed-out block of Vermont cheddar cheese, wrap it in about three pounds of bacon and smoked ham, batter it and deep fry it in lard, then grill it and eat it with all the stringy notions of liberty dripping down my grease-coated face. Each bite of such a gooey mess would be a celebration of life, liberty, and my pursuit of happiness.

That freedom also means I don’t just have to have one slice of only one type of pie. I can have cherry, key lime and blueberry pie all at once, to symbolize our nation’s great colors, devouring them all in the spirit of freedoms we so richly and deliciously enjoy.

And I know throwing caution to the wind as I would like to do this holiday weekend may have its consequences in the long run. But this is America I’m celebrating here — a nation so full of wonderfully braised, steamed, pan- and deep-fried treasures — and a clogged artery or two is an homage I’m willing to pay.

But reality sets back in, and I realize that the Independence Day feast I have in mind — complete with a patriotic feast of red meat, creamy white macaroni and cheese, and a nice slice of blueberry pie — comes right on the cusp of yet another doctor’s visit next week. And unfortunately, unlike on holidays, diabetes always exists in her office.

So I’ll dye my carrots red, drink a half-glass of diet blueberry juice, and let the tears that undoubtedly stain my unused white napkin serve as a sad but heartfelt salute to this great nation.

At least there will be fireworks.

Happy Independence Day.