Listen to Your Body
It should’ve been ideal. It should’ve been perfect. The perfect guy on the perfect date on the perfect night. Instead it was irritating, and it all started with orchids. My corsage. I’d insisted upon them, because I was a spoiled brat and my dress was a lovely deep violet, velvet and satin, and only orchids would do.
The instant you placed the expensive corsage on my wrist, the itching started. Halfway through dinner I noticed a rash extending to my elbow, crawling upwards from the locus of the furious red ring the corsage itself had made around my wrist. Rings echoing still others I’d sought to hide. I took the thing off. It took several more months for me to remove you; the onset of your rash was more subtle and less immediate.
To this day I tell people (if it comes up) that I’m allergic to orchids. I don’t touch them and I don’t let them touch me. But still I think they’re the most beautiful things. And still I don’t know if I’m allergic to orchids, or if my histamines were trying to tell me something.