Dear Kid,
I, your mother, have poison ivy.
On my face.
On. My. Face.
It is not the Worst Case of Poison Ivy Ever. I know this because My Friend the Internet kindly provided photos of some of the Worst Cases and they are Not attractive. At all.
So far, no one has run screaming from my face. At least, not more than usual.
Still, I am not going to include a photo of my face because A. I don’t like having my photo taken in the best of times and B. This is not the Best of Times.
Also, I am too busy to take a photo. I am busy trying Not To Scratch and there are lots of things in the world that are easier–like not thinking about pink buffalo (made you think about them).
Here’s what happened. I was weeding (as I told you). The puppy was napping in the sun.
Dad: Want gloves?
Me: Go away
Dad: Okey Dokey
Dad: You’re getting munched by mosquitoes
Me: Go away
Dad: Okey Dokey
Me: This vine I just pulled out kinda looks like poison ivy
Me: But it has 5 leaves over there
Me: The rest of it has 3 leaves. In an alternating pattern
Me: But there are 5 leaves over there so it CAN’T be poison ivy
Me: I’ll wash my hands really carefully anyway
So you can see that it is obviously Dad’s fault.
When you have P.I. on your face you put the goopy anti-itch stuff on your face. Which then dries and feels good. And then starts to crack and peel which doesn’t feel good and looks like your face is falling off. Again, not attractive.
I itch. Which is making me grumpy. Clearly Dad’s fault.
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