Let me clarify(—I'm not some pervert going around requesting golden showers or anything of that nature. I have poison ivy. BAD. Clay called my father-in-law yesterday about what type of medicine I should use to treat it, and his simple answer was to have someone, anyone take a leak on me. (Pretty sure I wasn't stung by a jellyfish ...)
I have poison ivy so bad I had to leave work early today. I went into my boss's office first thing this morning to let her know I had poison ivy all over my legs, that I couldn't wear shoes (she was lucky I wore pants), and was hoping to leave at noon to go home and sit in a vat of oatmeal. She looked at me horrified and said, "Oh my goodness, just go home now!" But I couldn't. And I told her that. I have a huge ad deadline to meet by tomorrow afternoon and I was determined to finish it today despite the oozing, itchy sores covering my legs and feet. Why? Because I am THAT good of an employee. *laughs*
"Okay, then. Hurry to get your ad done and then go home and relax," she said as I was walking out of her office. Then she yelled out the door, "And for goodness sakes, DON'T TOUCH ANYONE."
All three of us ( plus my father-in-law) ended up forming a search party in the woods. My mommy instincts (see? I have them!) totally took over and I didn't care what kind of foliage I was running through, I was not stopping until I found my dog. Of course I picked that day to wear my super cute black sun dress, making a good square footage of leg vulnerable to the prickles and thorns. Poison ivy honestly never crossed my mind ... Well, not nearly as much as snakes did.
We eventually found Joey, grinning like a banshee and covered in deer poop, sitting on top of a turtle (awesome, right!?). After dragging the shamed-faced canine back to the in-laws, we rinsed ourselves off with the garden hose. I had several visible welts and scratches, but I didn't think I had anything serious.
Fast forward to 5 days later. I magically developed the absolute grossest looking rash in the history of awkward skin conditions. It's raised, angry-looking and covers both of my legs from the knee down. It won't stop oozing out god-knows-what or "weeping" as they say, which I think makes the entire thing worse. Even my rash is so miserable it's crying. It looks like dozens of little bubbles are trapped on the service of my skin, and if you accidentally pop one, I'll tear a layer of skin off from scratching it so much.
I'm very uncomfortable. I can't sit in any position other than with my back straight and feet planted on the ground because I don't want my pounds of anti-itch cream to smear onto the couch or risk contaminating someone else. But of course I don't have to worry about contaminating Clayton (as he's pointed out to me at least 50 thousand times) because Mr. McPerfect is immune to poison ivy and literally cannot get it. Apparently this super power runs in the family because out of the four of us who went on the beagle rescue mission, I'm the only one who contracted a weepy skin ailment.
I was cursed with sensitive skin. Oh yes. Not terribly sensitive skin, but skin sensitive enough to decide to overreact or have an allergic reaction at the most inopportune, obnoxious times. If I forget to buy the "sensitive skin" formula of shaving cream, I'll more than likely end up with a break out on my knee caps. If I opt for expensive, scented lotions from Bath and Body Works, I run the risk of breaking out into small bumps well, everywhere. And nothing is sexier than smelling like Mango Mandarin AND having acne.
I remember playing outside one night as a kid when my parents were out and my sister and I were left with a babysitter. We discovered the one of the trees in our yard possessed tiny red berries and somewhere along the way we thought it would be awesome to throw said berries at each other. The details of the event are foggy, but I will never forget the next morning when I woke up with an enormous, elevated red rash covering every pore of my FACE (say "red rash" ten times fast). It was monstrous. I remember my face feeling heavy, like I was wearing a Halloween mask, and I may as well had been. My cheeks were bloated like a chipmunk and my eyes were crushed into little slits. Something in those berries was apparently very poisonous to my skin and my epidermis had a complete FREAK OUT.
And wouldn't ya know, my mom made me go to school.
I distinctly remember standing on the concrete parking lot, too timid to cross the threshold onto the grassy playground because I knew that the second I did, another one of those stupid boys was going to come running up to me screaming, "What happened to your face!??" (Sad to know that boys' insults don't get any more clever as they age)
I haven't had a skin issue that severe since then ... until now.
You're welcome, Joey.