Tag Archives: allergies


22 Jul

Today is my birthday, and The Squire offered to take me anyplace my little heart desired for lunch or dinner. Since we prefer to eat our main meal in the middle of the day, I originally suggested going to a locally owned Oriental restaurant, but late yesterday I decided what I REALLY  wanted was to go out for hard crabs.

And so we did.

There is a nice place not too far from here that had mediums crabs for $45 a dozen, hard crabsand when you consider that will feed two people it’s not a bad deal. Two ears of corn and two bottles of O’Doul’s probably didn’t come to any more than a nice meal at a really good restaurant, and we both enjoyed every minute of it. And we had three left over for later.

While we ate, we reminisced about other times we had eaten crabs.  When The Squire first came to Baltimore, fresh from the mountains of North Carolina he’d hardly ever eaten seafood, never mind hard crabs or oysters.  His coworkers invited him out for dinner one Friday, and he asked them to order for him while he went to wash his hands. When he got back to the table he discovered they’d gotten him a soft crab sandwich. All elbows sticking out from under the bread, and when he lifted the lid his lunch was staring back at him.

When we were going together we ran into some friends at the store; they bought two dozen crabs and met us back at my apartment. I showed The Squire how to eat a crab and told him I’d fix him a sandwich. We all got to talking and it suddenly dawned on me I’d never gotten him something to eat. I looked at the pile of shells in front of him and exclaimed, “How many of those things did you eat, anyway?”

“Six. And you’re no more surprised than I am.”

He’s never looked back.

We went to a crab feast held by my sister’s church. I don’t remember the price, but everybody got six crabs for their money. Six crabs in a brown paper sack.  That was it. Nothing else, and I mean nothing.  We were reduced to cleaning the crabs with my sister’s embroidery scissors and The Squire’s pen knife. Somebody took pity on us and gave us a fistful of napkins, and an extra mallet.

For a while I was allergic to ingested iodine; we had company from out of town who wanted carbs, so I went along, intending to have French fries or something. They suggested I take some Benadryl before we leave to prevent breaking out in hives, so I could eat with them, which I did. The next morning I was so dizzy I sat at the dining room table with my head in my hands to keep it from floating away. I pressed my elbows on the table to keep it from doing the same!

Crabs are delicious, and eating them breaks every possible rule of good etiquette. Newspaper for a tablecloth, mallet and knife instead of a knife and a fork, you wash your hands in a bucket of water, and put your elbows on the table. It’s not rude to ask the host what he paid for the meal; it’s pretty much understood somebody will ask.

If you ever come to Baltimore we’ll try to take you out for crabs. Even if it isn’t my birthday.



Adventures with Pink Eye

6 Aug

A few weeks ago I developed a lovely case of pink-eye, for which the doctor prescribed some drops. The drops cleared up the conjunctivitis, but my eye lids got really red and itchy. We met some friends for lunch and I had mixed egg whites (which tighten the skin beautifully and can be taken from the shells of your breakfast; you don’t need much) and a dab of makeup just to hid the fact that I looked as if The Squire had finally lost it and belted me one.

We kept using the drops even after the pink-eye had cleared up, but I finally stopped after I develop a blister on my upper lid. I had an appointment on the 4th, and was hoping we’d be able to get this cataract business straightened out, but we need to wait another few weeks.

Anyway, it turns out that I am allergic to Neomycin, which was the active ingredient in the drops, so we are off for more medicine to counteract the side effects of the first one. The doctor told me to smooth it over both top and bottom lids, on both eyes. The Squire, of course, insisted upon helping, but this morning neither of us  could find the tube. Mind you, the silly thing is less than three inches long, not as wide as my index finger, and a fairly dark purple, too boot, so it’s not really surprising that we couldn’t locate it.

“Use mine”, says The Squire. “It’s not the same thing”, says I. “Well, it is purple,” he insists. It’s NOT purple; it’s white with a red stripe, but my eyes were itching like mad, so I gave in. He put a little dab under one eye, and then got to laughing and put enough under the other eye to cover me from hairline to chin.

A few minutes later, I started rubbing at my face, and just as he as about to tell me to stop rubbing my eyes, he told me to go wash my face – NOW. Turns out that the active ingredient in his eye cream is – neomycin!

I washed my face with baby shampoo, reapplied my own ointment, and lived happily ever after.

And that, boys and girls, is why they tell you not to use other people’s medications.