Posts Tagged "itch"

Poison Ivy (Part II) | Take Your Blistered Face to Work Day

Dear Kid,

I took my poison ivied face to work yesterday.

CoWorker 1: What the…
CoWorker 2: Shut up
CoWorker 1: But did you see her face?
CoWorker 2: She has poison ivy. You knew that. Shut. Up.
CoWorker 1: It looks like her face is falling off.
CoWorker 2: You’re on your own. I warned you.

CoWorker 3: We should take photos
Me: No
CoWorker 3: Seriously. We could probably sell them to National Geographic
Me: I can and will kill you
CoWorker 3: They’ve probably never seen anything like this before
Me: I can and will break your camera equipment
CoWorker 3: Just lift your chin a little. That is your chin, isn’t it?
Me: Grrrr
CoWorker 3: She gets nasty when she has poison ivy

CoWorker 4: You definitely look worse than yesterday
CoWorker 5: I feel bad for you
CoWorker 4: You really look worse than yesterday
CoWorker 6: I think she can turn people to stone with that stare
CoWorker 2: I’m telling you. It’s time for a new subject

CoWorker 1: We’re going to have to change the presentation
CoWorker 5: Really? I think it’s fine
CoWorker 1: The presentation itself is fine
CoWorker 5: So What’s the problem?
CoWorker 1: Well, we can’t let her present. She’ll scare people away!
CoWorker 5: That’s true. I feel bad, but it’s true.

CoWorker 1: Don’t mention the poison ivy
CoWorker 7: What poison ivy?
CoWorker 1: On her face. Don’t mention it. We’re not talking about it
CoWorker 7: You have poison ivy?
Me: Yes
CoWorker 7: I’ve been talking to you for an hour. I didn’t notice
CoWorker 3: You didn’t notice? How could you not notice?
Me: I’m not sure which is worse, the noticing or the not noticing

Love, Mom

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The Mosquitoes Were Really Bad Last Night (Really, Really Bad)

Dear Kid,

This is not a mosquito. DearKidLoveMom.comI look like I have the measles.

Just to be clear, I don’t have the measles, small pox, chicken pox, or even a bad case of acne.

What I have are mosquito bites.

A lot of them.

Enough of them so that I expect to see a great reduction when I step on the scale.

Enough of them so that the Hoxworth Blood Center has called to tell me I’ve exceeded my donation level for the year.

Enough so that this year’s annual vampire ball is being moved out of southern Ohio.

Enough so that there isn’t enough hydrocortisone on the planet to handle them all.

Enough so that I look like I have the measles.

I did not invite the mosquitoes over for a festive meal. I didn’t invite them for a small nosh. I didn’t even invite them for a meal-free get together.

There was no inviting whatsoever.

Mosquitoes are not big on etiquette.

Or on spelling, since you can spell the plural mosquitos or mosquitoes and no one seems to care.

They are, however, big on helping themselves to whatever is in the ‘frig (and by “’frig” I mean my veins).

Dad was not sympathetic; Dad repels mosquitoes. Dad is a virtual mosquito umbrella. He says it’s because he was wearing long pants that he wasn’t bitten, but I was bitten through my clothing. Sleeves were not a deterrent. In fact, mosquitoes seem to have an affinity for red shirts. Or at least the shoulders underneath red shirts.

Excuse me while I go slather on a gallon or two of hydrocortisone.

Love, Mom


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