The Princess is delighted to have someone else to blame for the failure of last week's blog post to appear on Friday. This someone is Blogger, which was inexplicably "not available" during several attempts made by the Princess to post this blog. Although no excuses were given, the public was given several assurances that Blogger was "expected to be back to normal soon," soon meaning "whenever we get around to it."
Because having severe allergies results in looking like your face is blowing up, or possibly breaking down, people with allergies are often mistaken for having some extremely contagious disease. If you are one of these unlucky persons, you may notice subtle clues from those around you that confirm this:
In a crowd of people, everyone will be leaning collectively away from you as one mass. On a train or bus, other passengers will throw glances of pity in the direction of the person sitting next to you, at the same time secretly glad that THEY are not the person sitting next to you. Strangers toss Kleenexes at you, most often while still in the box. Co-workers anonymously leave the name and number of well-known contagious disease specialists on your desk, along with a copy of the employee policy about coming to work when you are sick ("If anyone on staff becomes ill due to your thoughtless negligence and willful disregard for human life, you will be persecuted to the full extent of the law, including having pollen directly injected into your veins").
You may even find discrimination in unlikely places, such as the local library. While I was perusing the audiobook selection at my library recently, trying to disguise my constantly running eyes and nose by pretending to be markedly affected by what I was reading on the book cover, an employee suddenly said to me, casually, that the library was conducting a survey. If I took an item off the shelf, she said, and then decide I didn't want it, I should just put it to the side instead of reshelving it. The idea was, she said, that library personnel would know that a patron had looked at the item, but had no further interest in it.
For some reason this killed any further interest on my part right then in looking at the audiobooks, and I went to check out my materials. It was not until I was leaving the library -- sneezing violently -- that it suddenly hit me that there WAS no survey -- or rather, I was the only participant: She had made it all up so she could collect all the items I had contaminated with whatever dreaded germs I was transmitting to the public at this venerable institution, and go decontaminate the items somehow, preferably by burning them.
On days when I am ready to submit to having a total face replacement because I no longer recognize my own features anyway, I have considered wearing a dust mask to protect myself from the airborne particles my body is convinced are sworn enemies. I realize, however, that this would only inflame the public more. You KNOW they would think I was carrying some type of biological weapon under there. I know this because I have thought the same thing of lone individuals wearing masks in public.
But an idea begins to occur to me...what if I were to put a mask on when I get on the train, and when someone looks oddly at me -- or asks outright why I am wearing it -- I were to say nonchalantly, "Oh, it's probably nothing, but I just -- I'm sure it's just my imagination, but -- well, it seems like the air in this train makes me sick."
With human beings as suggestive as we are, I think within a week everyone on the train would have a mask. And I would no longer be singled out for library surveys.
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