It’s another gorgeous day here in paradise so we spent Blythe’s nap time hangin’ out on the sidewalk this morning. In attendance: Alison (decked out in a lacy pink dress over the top of her pajamas – it’s Sunday, who am I to judge?), me, a bucket of sidewalk chalk, Cage (overweight dog), Simon (curmudgeonly old cat) and Tiger (Simon’s effeminate male offspring). Now that you’ve met the cast, picture each of the above (minus the chalk) fighting for a turn in my lap. The lap will never be large enough, people.
Cage spent his turn sprawled out, upside down, drooling on my pants and feet while I scratched and rubbed and petted him. I gave him a good long turn in the lap and then… the itching started. And then the sneezing. And the watery eyes followed by some hives and DANG, what on earth did he roll in that I am allergic to? Could he have rolled in a large pile of pepperoni? Unlikely, although that is probably the equivalent of a dog’s wet dream. Might he have coated his fur with the juice from a watermelon (not to be confused with watermelon juice) or pumpkin innards? Probably not.
Unfortunately, the list of odd things to which I am allergic seems to grow with each passing year. For example, did you know that one could be allergic to the urea that is so kindly called an “inactive ingredient” in most lotions that have SPF? That’s right, save your skin from the sun by coating it with urine. Someone else’s urine, at that. But don’t worry, it’s inactive. Wait just a minute here… urine. You know, Cage probably DID roll himself in some pee, and I just rubbed it all over my hands, arms, and lap. At least I didn’t give him any kisses today, ’cause that would just be disgusting.
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