Trees, Dust and Nuts! Oh My!

After my run-in with a Brazil nut trying to do me in - I decided to schedule an appointment with an Allergist. Unfortunately the one I chose was attached to a Pediatricians office.   

Summer and I arrived bright and early (What?!  I'm 30 and still need my Sissy, what of it?!) walked up to the toddler and kid-filled waiting area and Summer said "You did tell 'em you were an adult, right?"   

I warily went up to the window with the conspicuously low-placed talky-hole and said, "I'm here for my appointment with Dr. Shaw... Ya'all serve old people here, too, right?"   

The woman laughed and said yes, that Dr. Shaw sees many ages.   

I looked around the toy-strewn room in doubt and when completing my paperwork had to keep marking through "Child's" and writing "Adult's" in every question so I was nary the bit convinced.

Thirty minutes later, Sis and I were in a plain room with a tiny table and I was sitting there in an "OM" pose - both of my arms spread wide, palms up, as red whelps grew on each arm.   Summer aided me by pushing up my sleeves and by reading an old "People" - sometimes out loud to me, and sometimes, forgetting I was there and helpless to turn pages, reading the articles only to herself. 

Dr. Shaw came back to save me from trying to figure out how to kill my loving Sister by not using my arms about ten minutes later and stared down at my red spots.  

"Well," said the tiny doc guy as he looked at my arm, "you're definitely not allergic to dogs or cats."

"I'll be sure to tell my husband," I said.   

"But it seems like you have a pretty severe allergy to tree pollen-"

"I KNEW IT!  I KNEW I was allergic to nature!!!"

" -and dust mites."

"What about this crazy big one over here?"  I stiffly pointed to a rather large bump on my right forearm.  

"Oh - that's just the control-"

"YOU MADE ME ITCHY ON PURPOSE?!" I yelled at him. 

"I had to," he said, doing a very poor job at not laughing at my obvious distress.  "If that one didn't react we couldn't rely on the others to be accurate."

"Oh," his logic was infuriating, but since he was the doc, I was willing to concede.  "I guess that's okay then."

"I'm going to give you a prescription for Nasonex and an Epipen because since your nut allergy didn't show anything I'm not sure what is going on.  We'll have to have a blood test done to get more information."

I blanched and paled at the word "blood" and I could feel Sis next to me shaking with giggles as she fought for composure as my pain is, apparently, damn funny. 

"Now, when you use this," he uncapped the pen and showed me how it worked.  "You make sure you shove it hard into your leg.  So hard it bruises.  It has to get to the muscle and with - er - meatier thighs it can be a bit hard." 

It wasn't bad enough that the scale was off in his office by a good - 50 or so - pounds but now he was insinuating that my svelte posterior was being held up on meaty thighs?

Even I couldn't feign offense as I used both hands to poke at the outside of my thighs to illustrate I was well aware of his less-than-subtle direction for Epipen use on those of us with Junks in our Trunks and Elsewhere. 

"Any questions?" he asked.  

No. I had no questions.  I was allergic to nature.  I had a need for a serious change in my diet and was worried that my Epi would not make it past my "meat" should another Brazil nut attack me from a can of Mixed Nuts.  

No.  No questions at all.   

Vehicular Manslaughter?

I watched, helplessly, as my husband's grandmother traipsed through a patch of grass, narrowly missing a pile of fresh dog crap and then began shimmying across her heat pump.  

"I'll  just break the glass in the door!" she called over her tiny shoulder at me. 

"No you won't! "  I had spent the last hour arguing with the small woman.   She'd locked her keys in her trunk (easy to do) and instead of letting the locksmith come and pop her trunk she decided, instead, to show up at my work to get the spare keys Harry keeps. 

Only they were inside her locked house in his old bathroom.  

A house we couldn't get in. 

Because the key we needed was on another key ring.  

In Harry's pocket. 

In North Carolina. 

"Just have them break the window," was my hubby's suggestion. 

"Why do you two keep coming up with the suggestions that involve breaking glass?!" I screamed into my phone.

Three hours later, one trip back to Barboursville, two tow trucks and tow expert Locksmiths later - and the trunk to granny's little red car was popped and the keys were retrieved.   

Now, I wasn't perturbed by the keys in the trunk, nor was I upset at having to drive Little Miss Daisy all the way back to a house she didn't have a key to but what did irk me was that I had mentioned to my better half on more than one occasion the need for spare keys to be left with me - the less mobile part of our Trio. 

They'll learn to listen to me someday.  But until then, I'll just let them shimmy over heat pumps together - I'll wait in the car.

gRAPES of Wrath...

"Wanna do it?"  Harry proposed as I laid in bed, a sweaty, greasy, house-worked, over-worked lump of mass; however, I did contemplate his proposition momentarily.

"Uh, no," I said and went back to reading my book, ironically titled, "Holly's Inbox."

"C'mon.  Let's do it."

"No," I repeated.  I was skanky.  I had just spent the majority of the day cleaning and then had to iron his shirts for the upcoming week.   After twenty minutes of sweating over a steaming iron I finally had Harry check the air conditioning unit.   It was determined through a series of investigations - that the heat was still on.   He was lucky to even be alive to postulate copulation much less retain the use of those prized parts after that incident. 

"I'm skanky.  Go away." I rolled on to my side away from him.  

"Fine," he said.  "Rapin' the wife, rapin' the wife, I'm rapin' the wife," he sang under his breath as he tugged on my star-bedazzled panties.  

"Stop that!"  I said, trying not to laugh.  

"Hold still!"  He smacked the cheek nearest to him. 

"Harry!" I rolled over on to my stomach and put my face in the pillow - my lame attempts to hide.  

"Now you've done it.  That's it.   Now you're gonna make me have to-" SLIIIIIIIIIIIIP!  "Aghhh!" CRASH. 

I popped my head up. "Hey! Where'd you go?"  

"Ouuuuuuuuuuuuch..."  Harry said from the floor. Apparently, in his attempts to collect upon his husbandly "rights" he ventured too close to the edge of the bed and his knee slipped on the 1,000 thread count sheets and ended up, face-down and spread eagle in the bedroom floor. 

"You okay?" I asked in between loud fits of laughter. 

"Uh huh.  Owww."

"You done trying to rape me?"

"Uh huh.   Don't blog about this."

"I wouldn't dare."

Hmmmppphahahahahah!

Testy, testy, testy!

I won't beat around the bush - HARRY PASSED HIS TEST!  He got an 86% - which is phenomenal considering how freaking hard this test was. 

I couldn't even help him study. I'd read one side of a note card, flip it over, he'd answer and I'd look at him, look at the card, look at him, look at the card and then hold it up in front of his face: "Is this what you just said?  If so - you're right!"

Needless to say calling me useless would've been a nicety.  

But thank you for all the well-wishes and happy thoughts that were flung toward our lil' WVian 'burb - it totally worked!

:)