You're complaining about going to the allergist?

No. Absolutely not. This has me freaked, less freaked now that I've talked with some friends who, I now learn, have allergies of their own. Dust mites. Cats. They can grab your head in a second. The air cleaning machine whirring in my bedroom? Do they help? Silent laughter. Oh.

Still, it's weird, it's taken me a year to figure this out. Why didn't my doctor (three of them) not mention allergies? My dentist mentioned allergies. He not only mentioned allergies, he went into great detail about the nerves than run through your head, how they split in three directions and sing like wire when the body is attacked. Attacked? Boy howdy, let me tell you. Attacked. So anyway, the morning was less than wonderful today, I'm looking forward to whatever allergists do to make this cease. Allergic to cats? Emmy? Little Emmy? Little neurotic Emmy? Little neurotic Emmy who's been getting better and feeling better and less neurotic with every passing week? How'd ya like to forage on your own in Oakland, little cat?

There are readers who don't understand you're kidding, you know.

I know, but this thing came along six months before Emmy arrived and months after Mr. Wuss had left. And if it is Emmy, well, we'll deal with that when it comes. I'm betting on mites in the carpets. If you saw my carpets you'd bet on mites in the carpets too, although they look a lot better now that they've been introduced to my vacuum cleaner which now sits dust free beside the door in my bedroom. And if it is Emmy? Well, like wives, you don't let them go.

Like wives? You don't let them go? This from a guy who's never been married?

You're careful with commitments when they're forever I'm told.