Weblog entry:
- Sweet, sniffling irony
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The reunion weekend was, in a word, brilliant. Surrounded by old friends, fine drinks, and even finer weather, it was a perfect forty-eight hours to reunite not with my alma mater, but with the good friends that made my stay there so excellent. By all accounts, it was a perfect weekend.
Perfect, that is, except that I’ve apparently become allergic to my home state.
Growing up in a fairly rural area, I’d never had a problem with allergies before. Every May and June, people would pop Claritin like Pez, and leave their houses with no fewer than three boxes of Kleenex in tow. These people were always on my periphery — ever believing that I was the hardy Vermonter, I’d never really taken their stuffy-nosed suffering seriously. I’d always equated the word "allergy" with "Easter Bunny" — something that a lot of people believe in, but not the kind of malarkey that I could be bothered with. Well, suffice it to say that the Easter Bunny finally kicked down my door this past weekend, and brought her stompin’ boots: I spent the bulk of the weekend in a sniffling, red-eyed, sneezing mess, cursing my Northeasterner genes for not saving me from such pollen-induced pain.
Regardless, I did manage to have an excellent weekend, and hope to post a few dozen photos soon. But in the meantime, please excuse me; I’m still feeling the aftereffects of the 12-hour Nyquil I sampled late last night, and really should find some heavy machinery to operate.
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