Spring Fever: It ain't what it used to be
It's a pollen explosion!
A new definition of Spring Fever
Gone are the days when spring fever meant lying in the porch swing on a lovely day, mooning over the opposite sex and baseball or goin’ fishing. It wasn’t just a guy thing. We girls did that, too, you know. Today spring fever means a temperature of 101 degrees F and sneezing until one becomes dizzy, resulting in a trip to the doctor, then coming home with a bag full of antihistamines, antibiotics, and cortisone nasal spray, all with a price tag of a couple of hundred dollars, not to mention a stop at Walmart for a three-box pack of tissues, the he-man size.
Spring fever includes carrying a pocket or purse full of tissues and worrying about where to dispose of the used ones. I remember when Mama, a true Southern belle, admonishing me for not always carrying a clean handkerchief in my purse. I responded that if I owned any hankies, I had no idea where they were, and that I always had a mini pack of tissues handy. The inevitable happened; she gave me a box of pretty handkerchiefs for Christmas. I carried one just to please her until along came spring and the usual spring allergies. It took only a couple of sneezing fits to completely soak the dainty dimity square and I learned that fabric hankies, like cloth diapers, only hold so much before they have to be changed. Disposables are made for a reason. Out came the tissues again.
Ah, spring fever. Even the cars are affected. My what-could-otherwise-be-boring Prius is a hot color called Salsa Red, or at least it was originally. Maybe it will be again someday, but right now it has taken on the greenish-yellow glow of spring, and so has everybody else’s vehicles. One co-worker said that she rinsed off her car before she came to work. I’m not that industrious. I just pray for rain.
I’m glad I don’t let my pets go outside anymore. A black cat of previous years would come in looking like 18th Century nobility in a powdered wig, and I couldn’t go near the poor boy until he’d had a bath. That made him happy! Then HE developed spring allergies and couldn’t go outside during plant pollination season. Nothing is more pathetic than a black cat with red itchy eyes, a runny nose and the sneezes. We shared the recliner and comiserated together.
As if spring fever isn’t bad enough, we now have to contend with daylight savings time. Just when we are feeling our seasonal worst, we run the clocks forward and get up an extra hour early in the name of more daylight at the end of the day. Frankly, I like daylight savings time and wish we could keep it the year-round, but the majority of people don't. Then we have to listen to them complain until standard time rolls back around in October. Keep it forever, and they'll never know the difference. Somehow I never catch up on the hour of sleep I lose when I’m most vulnerable either. Add that lethargy to my already overtaxed body.
This spring has added insult to injury. My Rock of Gibraltar, that no-nonsense, no-allergy man of mine had to make a trip to the emergency room. The diagnosis: spring allergies. After a shot in the gluteus maximus, Mr. B came home with the usual medications and an attitude. “They’re crazy,” he whined, “I doan ‘ave allergies!” At least that’s what I think he said between the hacking, sneezing, snorting, the complaints that the tissues weren’t big enough, and the order for me to buy him some man-sized Kleenex.
“No, but I’ll tell you what you do have,” I answered.
“Whut?!” He responded in his inimitable way.
“You have the most serious case of denial I’ve ever encountered.” I said matter-of-factly.
“No I doan!” he exclaimed. "Koff, koff."
Anyway, spring is my favorite season of the year, or it could be if Mother Nature weren’t so enthusiastically prolific. All the love making between the trees, the weeds, and the flowers newly erupted from the earth only raise my histamine level, not my enthusiasm. Little Devas, are you getting this? Keep it down out there!
I just wish I could go back to those days of lying in the big yard swing that hung between the two hickory trees. After school, I would stare at the pale blue sky and count the white fluffy clouds and sigh, wishing my life away that school would soon be out for the summer. No sneezing, no sealing the windows and shutting myself up under the air conditioning waiting for the greenish-yellow sticky residue on the cars and the back deck to go away. Those were the days.
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