The problem is I need a pair of boots. The old faith-full ones have given up on me. They did sterling service and will be hung in a place of great honor. Maybe painted black and white, or used as hanging baskets if the Spring ever arrives. But to enter the kingdom of New-Boot-Dom, I had to go into town. Ten minutes later I was stricken by a palsy that's little understood by the medical profession. It's quite obvious to me however that for us apprentices to the ranks of the Non-Smoker there is what I will call the Allergic Reaction to members of the Radical Wing of the Non-Smoking Community. Naturally there have been a number of ridiculously far fetched theories tossed around regarding the cause of my Allergic Reaction. Laundry Detergent, Buckwheat Groats, Hibernating Lady Birds. But the more astute thinker knows better.
I started feeling shaky as soon as I saw the signature of the Radical Wing. It's
their Smoke Free Zone sign. My reaction to it could be translated from the
Sabean language as, these fine fellows have got a hot nerve. This must
have produced some sort of psychotic reaction in me that some people call Hives,
others call Bring on the End Times, but which is better understood as Entire
Body Red Blotchy Itchiness. And yes there was some direct action which required
a visit to the Tobacco Hut in order to hunt down a better cure than Benadryl.
But to be on the safe side of course, I'll not be washing my clothes for a
couple of months, I'll stop cooing at hibernating Lady Birds and I'm going to
start calling Buck Wheat Groats, Highwayman Porridge. But one thing I know for
certain I'm done with Smoke Free Zones until I have to renew my driving license.