We’ve been together forever. You’ve been a part of me for as long as I can remember. Longer than I’ve known my children. Longer than I’ve known my husband. Longer than I’ve been able to purchase tissues at the pharmacy by myself.
You were with me on my first family camping trip, on multiple spring breaks and first days of school, at my outdoor college graduation ceremony, at the beginning of every pregnancy, on leisurely afternoon strolls with the baby carriage in tow and endless trips to the park with the kids.
You bring me to actual tears with every blooming flower or blade of freshly cut grass I smell; and I even sniffle a bit at the thought of us being together again throughout the beautiful autumnal season of falling leaves and brightly colored trees in a few months.
But…. We need to talk.
I will put what I have to say as gently as possible, as I want you to know that the time we’ve spent together has always affected me deeply through the years and that will never change.
But I’m just going to come out and say it: I want you to go away. Far, far, away. Like, please get out of my life and never come back again. I want you on a one-way flight to the tallest field full of pollen-covered ragweed that you can find and I want you to stay there. Forever.
It’s just that I have had one runny nose and one sinus headache too many. One shortened trip to the park too many. One uncontrollable sneezing fit too many. No one even says “bless you” to me anymore. I certainly do not feel blessed during allergy season anyway.
Quite simply, enough is enough. I’m sick of walking around with what feels like a miserable semi-permanent cold. I cannot spend another day foggily fighting exhaustion after taking some “non-drowsy” allergy medicine. And do you know how difficult it is to supervise my children through slits of puffy, barely open, watery eyes? It is even harder to prepare dinner without accidentally sneezing in it occasionally (sorry family!).
And that overpriced allergy medicine, by the way, will need to come out of the kids’ college funds soon. Between that and the half box of tissues I go through per day, I think I could afford to just pack up and move someplace that I’m not allergic to.
Also, well, there’s no way to say this nicely. So I’ll just come out with it. You’re not only highly obnoxious, but you are seriously embarrassing as well. Do you know what people do when they come in contact with a sniffling, red-nosed, swollen-eyed person wielding a fistful of balled up tissues? They back away. Quickly. And then they scoff at the muttered quasi-apologetic “it’s just allergies” explanation you’ve given, as though they believe you are carrying a vial of smallpox around in your back pocket.
Oh, and speaking of red noses, it wasn’t funny when classmates called me Rudolph as a child, and it isn’t funny when my own family does it now. Also, when I try to scratch my itchy throat with the back of my tongue, I’m pretty sure it sounds as though I’m clucking like a chicken. Not cool.
Allergies, we are through. No more excuses, no more sticking around for three months at a time, no more pop-up reappearances after I think I have finally gotten you out of my system. It ends today. I want you GONE. Out of my life for good. Pack your Claritin and Kleenex and GO.
Stuffed Up and Fed Up
Originally posted on HighchairsandHeadaches.com
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