My father is morbidly obese, and then some. He’s pushing 400 pounds. His legs are shot. His heart’s riddled with issues. There’s the stepmom’s chain-smoking, his daily dalliances with alcohol despite being told a single drink could kill him, and then there’s the ridiculous Southern diet the wife (who was a nurse for 35 years, is equally morbidly obese, smokes, is never active, and who is also diabetic with heart issues) is always cooking. How about scalloped potatoes in their house? A casserole has a half-stick of butter and a jar of Cheez Whiz. You want sour cream with that? It’s in the fridge.
If there was a textbook “how not to be diabetic” example, it’d be them.
