So I’ve managed to contract the most horrendous case of poison sumac in the history of mankind. Thank heavens we’re at home. I’m fairly certain George would have long ago left me in Albuquerque had he not been able to get more than four feet away from me for the past week. He and the children have been sliding food across the floor with a stick and running in fright, lest I trap them with one of my whining fits and possibly accidentally touch them, thus transferring the eternal funk to their lily white skin.
The cats haven’t forsaken me, though I wish they would. We have an old farmhouse, surrounded by cornfields — there’s plenty of mouse work for three cats. But no, they prefer to lollygag around on my bed, leaving hair piles to stick to the Caladryl lotion I’m covered in, because that’s what cats do. Exactly the opposite of what you want them to do.
Yeah, it’s definitely the Benadryl.