I changed my diet. Not because I wanted to, but because I broke out into a giant rash.
I’m one massive itch ball. I’m hoping I don’t turn into a festered blob of ooze before I can figure out what the hell I’m allergic to. I don’t want to end up at the Scabdale Home for Lepers. Eczema itches like a mosquito bite mating with a big lump of measles.
I think it’s a food allergy. I have to cut out wheat, gluten, corn, dairy, soy and eggs for thirty days, then introduce each one back, one at a time. Yeah, so for now what’s left to eat? Yard waste and blowfish, I suppose.
I’m on day three of this rabbit cuisine and it went okay. I mean, eating clean isn’t exactly exciting. It doesn’t pump my nab. At least I’ve been spared of having any major cravings for chocolate or cheeseballs.
I’m taking a multi-vitamin, primrose oil, vitamin D, probiotic, antihistamine, cannabis oil in skin cream, and non-perfume everything else in my entire existence. Hopefully this little cocktail of anti-itch ingredients stops me from ripping the skin off my flesh like a zombie in Night Of The Living Dead. Okay, but a sexy zombie, let’s be realistic. Ha! I’ll tell you one thing though…
Feelin’ itchy makes you bitchy!
It’s only been a couple of days, but so far it looks like I’m starting to heal a little. Do you want to see my rash?
A lady dressed in a tailored suit and wearing a pearl necklace came up to my cash register and waited for me to ring through her groceries. This chick must have soaked herself in a vat of perfume and then sprayed it all over herself as well for good measure.
She created a deadly, toxic force field. Her offensive chemical consistancy permeated in the air surrounding her like a hog sewer and a vat of rotting onions instantly and energetically smashed together. It choked me really badly like a skunk desperately running into my nostrils looking for berries.
What happened to the idea of a little dab will do ya? Or that less is more?
This black hole stench-vortex sucked the oxygen right out of my lungs. My throat seized up like a rusty engine and I simultaneously explosively farted and choke-coughed at the same time.
Yes, I felt embarrassed. I wanted to drop through a trap door beneath me. I obviously have really bad allergies. This definitely wasn’t a grocery whisper.
She took a step back, eyes wide, staring at me looking both surprised and horrified. “Are you okay?”
What I really wanted to do is curse. I felt angry because I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t actually say the words in bold, but it’s what I thought.
“Yes, I’m okay. You stupid, stinking bitch. I always like to pretend I’m an exploding balloon at least once a day. I’m big at parties!” I remarked sarcastically. “Actually, I’m allergic to your perfume,” I gasped. “You’re wearing too much. How do you not know that you reek like a pit of decaying animals covered in ammonia? The buzzards are circling!”
She looked offended and left. It wasn’t my fault she stank like a two cent hooker. I wonder to this day if she still soaks herself in lung destroying chemical. I exploded like an aerosol can on an open flame in front of her. I hope she learned this valuable life lesson:
Yeah, I have some pet peeves. I like to consider myself a tolerant person, but I’m sorry to say some things just irk the hell out of me.
The rudest lunkheads on the planet are people who can’t seem to get off their friggin’ cell phone when they are in the grocery check out line. I mean, come on! What is so damn important that you can’t say…”Hey girl, I’ll call you right back.” Don’t get me wrong folks, I’m not a violent person. However, when customers pull that ill-mannered shit and ignore me when I’m trying to ask them how they want to pay for their carcinogenic, processed, artery clogging slop, I just want to snatch the phone out of their hand and throw it forcefully against the wall, smashing it into oblivion. It amazes me how many people do this and they are completely unaware of how obnoxious they are. Another thing that really exasperates me is when stupid dipshits are driving and don’t signal when they are going to turn. Seriously, it’s not rocket science. Show me which way you’re going so that I don’t accidentally ram my giant boat of a vehicle into the side of your little eco-car, killing you and your seven children. These are the same dolts that drive slower than a pack of snails going through peanut butter in the left passing lane as well. That’s why speed limits are set. I have to get to work, I actually have a job I have to get to. I don’t have all day. Step on it grandpa, or get in the right hand lane with the rest of your prehistoric, geriatric herd. The worst peeve for me personally, is when inconsiderate folks bathe in perfume and I’m forced to breathe it in because they come to my till. Seriously, why does one have to wear so much? Have they never heard of the expression, less is more? I have severe allergies to that chemical torment. Whenever they come around me my throat closes up and I sneeze like a combusting, epileptic snuffleupagus. It’s not pretty.