If you give my spouse a bowl of pasta.

I made pasta and plain homemade sauce for dinner.  Mr. MM ate a small bowl for dinner.  (Can't prove this now, I did not watch him eat.  Normally I do not.  Just understand that he is typically a reactive hypo just like me, not nearly as severe as I seem to have been, but... you never know with RNY do you?!)

So, if you give my spouse a bowl of pasta...

He will watch NCIS, fall into a carb coma, and he will pause it, talk about "conspiracies," and how he just needs some time to think something over. 

He gets up and sits in the other room in front of his computer, but does not use it.  He puts his head in his hands - and starts rambling nonsensical about work and his boss - but brings NCIS into it.  "You know when you think about a problem, and you figure it out?  But then, you forget what you were thinking about?"   Then he puts his head back in his hands.  He tells me not to leave the doorway.  "Wait.  Stand there.  I'll figure it out!"

I think he is serious, for a minute or three, and think he's losing it.  I ask him if something is going wrong at work, does he need help?  I tell him I think we need a doctor.  OMG.  What's the matter?  What happened?  Are you okay?  Did you lose your job?  Wait.

Then I realize, he's got to be hypoglycemic, he's acting like a fucking moron.

He starts to fight me on this.  He's "not low," I force him to jab, it's not that low, his body has started to come back, it's 65 mg. 65 is like, PERFECT!  Back on the job!

PASTA, a small bowl of PASTA!  Why doesn't this happen with all the BAD crap he eats?!