Tierce got his allergy panel back. Apparently he’s really allergic to fleas. He’s also mildly allergic to a mite called T. putrescentiae, black willow trees, dandelions, english plantain, goldenrod, a midge known as culicoides, and mayflies.
Mayflies? Seriously?
And of course, our conversations go something like this:
Tierce: I have to go out.
Me: Gotta pee?
Tierce: Yeah, sure.
Me: Fine, just don’t rub your face in the grass- stop it!
Tierce: It feels so good, though!
Me: You’re rubbing it right in the stuff that makes you itch!
Tierce: You can’t know that.
Me: Uh, this report that I spent about $350 on, says I do.
Tierce: Nonsense. I think they made it all up.
Me: They didn’t make it all up- STOP EATING THE DANDELIONS.
Tierce: But… they’re yellow. I can see yellow. It’s a universal sign for “Dogs should eat me”.
Me: It is not! Wait, if that’s true, then why don’t you like bananas?
Tierce: They’re not the right shade of yellow.
Me: Yeah, sure.
Tierce: But this is!
Me: No! That’s goldenrod! You’re allergic to that!
Tierce: I’m sure that nothing will happen if I just bushwhack my way through this clump.
Me: GET OUT OF THE GOLDENROD.
Tierce: You and your superstitions.
Me: This isn’t superstition or divination. This is a report derived from scientific tests.
Tierce: Look, they stole my blood. Who knows what kind of witchcraft they engaged in. It was probably a plot to make me itchy and you fell for it. Idiot.
Me: Look, I’m going to give you one more chance to get your ass out of the allergens and into the house. Then I’m getting the hose.
Tierce: Look at you, The Great Dictator.
Me: TIIIIIIEEEEERRRRCCCE!
Tierce: Fine, whatever. But don’t think I’ll forget the day when you let the devil-worshippers cast itch-spells on me.
Me: House. You. Now.
Tierce: There you go, always ignoring the real issues. I’m the one with the problems here.
Me: Oh, I completely agree on that score.
