Fuck You, Allergies! I Hate You!

Illustration for article titled Fuck You, Allergies! I Hate You!

This is Fuck You Week, Jezebel's first annual week of desperate emotional cleansing and unhinged psychic purging.


Now, right off the bat, I want to say that I feel like a bit of a charlatan telling allergies to fuck off, because I don't really have allergies. I mean, I DO, a little bit, but I'm not one of those people who grew up with pollen allergies that kept them bedridden for half the year, or the kind of apocalyptic peanut sensitivity that turns an ordinary lunchroom into the Killing Fields. To those people I say oh my goooooooooooooddddddd I am so sorry. (Leave your own fuck-yous to allergies in the comments.) My allergy is milder, and it came on later in life. But it still FUCKING HURTS.

I am allergic to kitties.

Adorable, fluffy, passive-aggressive, hilarious, idiot kitties.

They ruin my face.

This wouldn't be particularly troublesome, were I not helplessly afflicted with another debilitating condition—AN ALL-ENCOMPASSING ADDICTION TO SNUGGLING ADORABLE KITTIES AT ALL TIMES.

But I can't snuggle fucking adorable kitties because my face tells me to go fuck myself! My eyes swell shut, my nose gets red and huge like an heirloom tomato, I sneeze until my whole body cramps, and I basically have to waterboard myself to get the fucking dander out of my pores so I can function. So as much as I'm compulsively drawn to stupid little kitty faces, my allergies keep me at least 10 city blocks from them at all times. (Sometimes the math doesn't work out. Achoo.) I must shun that which I love most. And for that I will NEVER FORGIVE YOU, ALLERGIES.


It wasn't always like this! When I was little I could just put a kitten right up to my face and huff it like a glue rag. No worries. I had two kitties—Georgie and Gracie—and they literally slept on my pillow and I loved them sooooooooo much. Georgie was my #1 bro. She'd be all, "MIAOWWWW" and I'd be like, "Meow," and she'd be like, "Mieeewwww?" and I'd be like, "MAAAAOOOWWW," and we would just do that all day and then I'd shove some of her cat fur up my nose just to prove that I could. It was good to be young then in the season of plenty!


Then I went away to college. And when I came back, nothing was the same.

You know when you come back for winter break and discover that your mom gave your room away to some weird exchange student? This was like that, except my face had decided to rent out some real estate to this BULLSHIT BITCHFACE CAT ALLERGY OF DOOM. I couldn't pet the cat. I couldn't sit near the cat. I certainly couldn't sleep in a room with the cat. The snuggles. Were finished.


"Miaaaaoouuuuw?" quoth Georgie into the night.

She would get no reply.

Think of the thing you love most in the world. Now double it. Now give it one last hug. Now DIE OF ALLERGIES because you don't GET a last hug, because the thing you love so much is now your face's WORST ENEMY. Now cry.


Now you're me.


Fuck you, allergies.

Photo credit: nailiaschwarz / Stockfresh.



My sister is anaphylaxic to eggs, wheat, and dairy. For all non-anaphylaxic folks out there, that means if she eats them/get a tiny bit of them around her mouth, she'll die.

Which I'm pretty sure is the worst reaction ever.

She can't even be NEAR them- which excludes pretty much every location ever.

Plus, she's never tasted cookies before. Or cake. Or donuts. No alcohol (99% are made from fermented grain). Or ice cream. Or even just regular bread.

Makes me almost love my not-so-bad-in-comparison kitty allergy (emphasis on the "almost").