Don't look at me. I'm hideous.
Seriously, I am.
Right now my arms and legs are covered with hives due to an allergic reaction to who-the-hell-knows-what. It started two nights ago after eating a very ripe, very delicious banana sent by the gods of all things ambrosial.
In my mind, this gluttony is the cause of my demise. I have been allergic to bananas for a few years now. I was under the impression the allergy had dissipated, so I started eating them again, half a banana at a time, building up for the whole thing, you know? I did this four times, and I haven't had any reactions--no wheezing, no up-chucking. I was essentially in the clear, right? So when Saturday night rolled around, I was feeling a party coming on, and I went for the whole banana. (Should I insert dirty joke here? Nah. Better not. This isn't exactly a "family blog," but ya never know who's reading.)
The next day at work I was popping Benadryl tablets from a Pez dispenser, unapologetically offering them to my co-workers who have not had the pleasure of cavorting with "Loopy Drug-Induced Nessa." It got me through my day, but the hives remained.
This is the forty-fourth hour of my misery. In the words of Warren Zevon, “Poor, poor, pitiful me.”
I’m using this hideousness as an excuse to stay indoors, out of the public eye, but we all know, I don’t really need a reason to do that. It’s well with my soul to remain invisible.
Hydrocortisone baths and shots of Benadryl are powerless against this raging rash, so I trotted down to Urgent Care and got signed up for some steroids. They make me twitchy like a drug addict who just needs a fix. (sniffsniff.) “Hey, uh,” (wipes nose) “You got any more a dat, uh…banana puddin’?”
Funny thing is, Doc says it’s not a food reaction. This reaction comes from something topical, something I probably used in the shower. I have to go back through my day and try to remember if I changed anything about my hygiene habits. All I can think is that Jacob (kiddo #3) schmoozed his way back into the house a few days ago and probably poisoned my body wash with his boy germs. Rotten child.
Maybe I’m just allergic to Jacob
or motherhood
or roommates of any nature.
Maybe this is why I’m still single.
Seriously, I am.
Right now my arms and legs are covered with hives due to an allergic reaction to who-the-hell-knows-what. It started two nights ago after eating a very ripe, very delicious banana sent by the gods of all things ambrosial.
In my mind, this gluttony is the cause of my demise. I have been allergic to bananas for a few years now. I was under the impression the allergy had dissipated, so I started eating them again, half a banana at a time, building up for the whole thing, you know? I did this four times, and I haven't had any reactions--no wheezing, no up-chucking. I was essentially in the clear, right? So when Saturday night rolled around, I was feeling a party coming on, and I went for the whole banana. (Should I insert dirty joke here? Nah. Better not. This isn't exactly a "family blog," but ya never know who's reading.)
The next day at work I was popping Benadryl tablets from a Pez dispenser, unapologetically offering them to my co-workers who have not had the pleasure of cavorting with "Loopy Drug-Induced Nessa." It got me through my day, but the hives remained.
This is the forty-fourth hour of my misery. In the words of Warren Zevon, “Poor, poor, pitiful me.”
I’m using this hideousness as an excuse to stay indoors, out of the public eye, but we all know, I don’t really need a reason to do that. It’s well with my soul to remain invisible.
Hydrocortisone baths and shots of Benadryl are powerless against this raging rash, so I trotted down to Urgent Care and got signed up for some steroids. They make me twitchy like a drug addict who just needs a fix. (sniffsniff.) “Hey, uh,” (wipes nose) “You got any more a dat, uh…banana puddin’?”
Funny thing is, Doc says it’s not a food reaction. This reaction comes from something topical, something I probably used in the shower. I have to go back through my day and try to remember if I changed anything about my hygiene habits. All I can think is that Jacob (kiddo #3) schmoozed his way back into the house a few days ago and probably poisoned my body wash with his boy germs. Rotten child.
Maybe I’m just allergic to Jacob
or motherhood
or roommates of any nature.
Maybe this is why I’m still single.
(Or maybe it's the invisibility.)
