Recipe for disaster

I woke up half an hour ago. Itchy. Like, really itchy.

What could it possibly be, making my face itch so hard that I'm tempted to scratch it off, or at least spend the next hour or so in a hot shower?

I didn't eat anything out of the ordinary. I had the same wine I always drink with dinner.

Then it hits me. The fire. That damn bonfire my roommates built outside. With wood. And green stuff. You know, stuff I'm allergic to. It's slowly killing me.

Seriously. Is it me, or is it extremely creepy that this stuff has some sort of half life? In twenty years--when I'm living in a sanitary padded cell because of, you know, THESE DAMN ALLERGIES--I'm going to start swelling like a puffer fish out of the blue and everybody is going to be like how the hell is she allergic to this?

Then I'll laugh. Because the allergies drove me crazy.