The Answer My Friend Is Blowing in the Wind

The Answer, My Friend, Is Blowing in the Wind.................Sucks to Walk Through Chest-High Grass......

Grass and me.......... Grass and I....... Grass and myself.......... Well, we just don’t get along. My last blog dealt with the evil grass at my father’s house. This one deals with the chest-high grass gently blowing in the wind at a property that I purchased last year, which, coincidently, was the last time the grass was mowed there. That’s right. Last year.

The story goes something like this:

Years ago, Husband obtains two “project” boats. Husband has more “vision” than brains or time. Project boats become fixtures in the back yard. Plants grow inside the boats. Wife becomes increasingly agitated with permanent lawn ornaments. Son is graduating. Wife demands boat relocation to new property. Out of sight, out of mind. Husband has just a little brain matter. Moves boats.

There you have it. The boats were “put out to pasture,” so to speak. As a friend and I moved the boats, we had to walk around in the chest high grass. As we were walking, the grass was breaking and blowing seeds, spores, dust, pollen and all sorts of nasty stuff up and into my lungs, nose, eyes, ears, and face. By the time I drove the 15 miles back home, my eyes had swollen almost shut (“Cut me, Mick!”) and the whites of my eyes turned an insidious, hell-red color. I looked like a vampire from a grade B horror flick.

I went to the drugstore and bought benadryl pills and liquids. I sucked down two pills and drank a bunch more of the stuff than was actually useful. The swelling around my eyes began to slowly subside. I went to McDonald’s for lunch. The drive-through person looked at me like I was from another planet (I wasn’t). I resisted the urge to say, “Dude, I got the munchies!” I got back to the office and started feeling bad. Then the benadryl kicked in. People would ask me how I felt and I’d say, “purple.” They’d look at me funny. I’d say, “Listen, if you don’t want to know how I feel, don’t ask!” Finally, my agents asked me to go home because I had outlasted my usefulness at the office. I left.

That night, my temperature spiked to 103.8 degrees! I drank fluids and felt miserable. I finally fell asleep at 3:30 am only to wake up drenched in sweat like I had just run a marathon. Great. I flushed the fever and will be back to ok...............wrong. Next night, the same old thing. I call the allergist. He says something like this...................... “Let’s see.................you have allergies to grasses.........you just walked through chest-high wild grasses in the middle of the height of grass and hay fever allergy systems!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Let me think.........................”

I never get a real doctor. I just seem to get out-of-work comedians. Anyway, now I’m sucking down steroids in an attempt to quell the grass-related uprising in my body.

Ah well, just like my other steroid-sucking friend says...........“I’ll be back.”

Steroidingly Yours

Blawgerman