For everyone who has and who will say “Bless You” to me, I thank you in advance. For the last week, I have been suffering from intolerable allergies, causing fluid to careen out of my nostrils and down my throat. My eyes are swollen–if I had a larger forehead and was 1 foot shorter, I perhaps could pass as Christina Ricci. I wonder if any retakes need to be done for the Black Snake Moan movie? . . .
The culprit is the dreaded weed. I am, quite unfortunately, terribly allergic to weeds. When weed allergens were placed on my arm by my allergist’s assistant, my arm proceeded to immediately balloon, making it virtually impossible for the allergist to determine the degree to which I was allergic to each particular weed, as each weal melded into adjacent weals, forming one gigantic and itchy red sore traveling down the length of my forearm. It was sexy, to say the least.
So here is my proclamation. Who the hell needs weeds anyway? I mean, does anyone ever go up to weeds and say, “Oh Junior – look at those weeds! They’re beautiful!” On Valentine’s Day, do you ever see men run down to the local flower shop to pick out a bunch of weeds? I think not! To the next President, I ask that a portion of the budget be devoted to the elimination of the useless greenery that has declared war upon my body. Hell, if Johnny Mac were to make me this promise, I might even consider voting for the Maverick and could possibly be the one Virginia vote that changes history . . .