Fantasy Allergies

I was planning to begin this post by noting, in a rather trite way, that it's that time of year again (allergy season, that is), but not only would that be a trite opening sentence, it would be a damned lie.  It's still that time of year, at least for me, since I react to just about every kind of dust and pollen that exists on this ever-blooming planet, and it's only in the dead of winter that I am able to take a satisfyingly deep breathe and proclaim, "Ah, what a day!"

Which is really annoying to people who don't enjoy thirty-degree weather.  And also to people who lived in 1816.*

Naturally, I have medication for my allergies.  In fact, I sort of feel like I can date each of the periods of my life by what allergy med I was on at the time (Ah, the seldane years!  How quickly they passed!).  Each has its pluses and minuses, but none of them have worked for more than five years, and most last fewer than two.

Somewhere in a lockbox, along with my childhood vaccination history, I have a list of things to which I'm allergic.  It encompasses most of the natural world, from cats to ragweed, and is a truly depressing document.  This evening, after I finished recovering from mowing the lawn, an endeavor which involves benedryl, an inhaler and a steamed up bathroom, it occurred to me that instead of railing against having allergies at all, maybe I could persuade the universe the give me different allergies, better allergies, allergies that would actually enhance my life. 

You see, once you are allergic to something, you have permission to avoid it.  In fact, you are even encouraged to do so.  And if you can't avoid it, you're allowed to sit far away from it while covering your face with a cloth.  Can you imagine how fantastic it would be to be encouraged to behave that way around things you actually choose?!

Bliss.  Sheer bliss.

 Twenty-Five Things I Would Like to Be Allergic to
Instead of Dust and Pollen and Cats

[Note: I haven't included things like war or terrorism or mimes; there's really no point in being allergic to those, since it's already socially acceptable to flee when they approach]:

1. Beets
2. Crocs
3. Committee meetings
4. Telemarketers
5. The non-grammatical use of the word like
6. Animal print clothing
7. Grits
8. Motivational speakers
9. Assessment reports
10. The phrase I'm just sayin'
11. Oysters
12. Twilight novels
13. Lima beans
14. Eye-liner
15. Chain letters / e-mails / facebook statuses
16. The Aflac duck
17. Jello
18. Pantyhose
19. Cooked cabbage
20. Peeps
21. Velveeta
22. Pretentiousness
23. Shoulder pads
24. The expression It is what it is
25. Ironing

 Alright, universe, I've made my preferences clear.  Tomorrow morning I expect to wake up free from hay fever and ready with a doctor's excuse for avoiding committee meetings and eye-liner.  Don't let me down!

      *The "Year without a Summer"--google it, my friends.