They say that if you live in DC for a long period of time, sooner or later you develop allergies. This certainly is the case with me, and I just can’t take it anymore. So today I postponed the return to work and instead submitted to the joys of allergy testing.

In case you’ve never experienced said testing, here’s how it works:

A calmly smiling nurse first swabs your forearms with some icky smelling disinfectant. Then she draws little pink polka dots all over them so that you look like the sad elephant from the Island of Misfit Toys…

This post appeared in its original form at DC Metblogs
Sweetly she begins to stab each polka dot with a prick of allergen, all the while reciting their names in a singsong tone. There’s a prick called a “positive,” which instantly swells up and itches like mad – this is meant to showcase a bad reaction for comparison. Nice. Then she leaves you alone for fiteen minutes while you browse through assorted fashion mags, your arms reddening and blistering. Of course she admonished you NOT TO SCRATCH, and in order to avoid this you begin to flail your itching arms around while hopping up and down in extreme discomfort. Now you look like the pink polka dot elephant on crack.

“Oh poor dear,” the nurse says upon her return, examining the blisters, “dust and dust mites.”

Dust and dust mites?

People, as you know, I live in an old house that I’ve given up cleaning.

Apparently, I have done this to myself!

This post appeared in its original form at DC Metblogs