A Million Tiny Monkeys. In my Lungs.

I am allergic to cats. This is not a revelation to most, it's usually pretty plain to anyone who has seen me come into contact with a feline. Only, there is a scale of allergic-ity that I have which makes things more interesting.

On one extreme, we have long haired cats which provoke an immediate and very alarming physical reaction. This may entail but is not limited to: sneezing, crying, running at the nose, vomiting, intense physical pain directly behind the eyes and swelling of the throat. And that's just being in the same room as the cat. People can attest, it's sort of creepy.

On the other end, I am perfectly fine around certain species of the domesticates, I just slowly but surely build up to a low grade allergy attack - stuffed nose, watery eyes, sinus headache, etc. It's just a cumulative effect, but nothing serious and I can go for days at a time with them around.

My sister's beautiful, wonderful cat Ishbu is a member of the second column. So whenever I go home, I am slowly subjected to his ministrations. Which I do not mind, since I actively love him and have to restrain myself from going all crazy cat person around him, talking in that creepy babble talk that people get. But when I go back to my own humble abode, my body has to return to its natural equilibrium, which means that my head begins to drain southward into the rest of my body. Which does not bode well for the day immediately following my return.

Right now, my lungs feel roughly half full of some sort of very thick liquid, and I have a worse runny nose than pretty much any 5 year-old in the world. This near pneumoniatic level of my lungs was brought to the fore especially well today when I decided to read some David Sedaris over lunch. You know what is the only thing that you can't do in this lung-filled state? Laugh heartily. Because it will send you into crazy wracking coughing fits wherein people openly discuss whether or not you may die before you can gain control of your breathing again.

And when David Sedaris is involved, you get to read about 4 lines at which point something tickles your fancy and you fall into one of the fits. 2 minutes later you have regained control of yourself, scared everyone else in the restaurant half to death, pop open the book again and read two more lines, and go right back into the spasms of laughter/coughing.

After about 20 minutes of this, the woman sitting next to me came over, grabbed the book from my hand and said "Maybe you should stop reading that book, dear. I think it's overstimulating you."

At which point everyone around us nodded.

Also, at that point, I decided that it was best if I leave. And never return.

(Do I need to mention that I was in Wendy's? No, of course not. Because if something embarrassing happens to me in a restaurant, you can just assume it was a Wendy's and always be right. Sigh.)