I love spring as much as anyone. Okay, maybe not quite as much as anyone. Which isn’t to say I don’t love it or that I’m not happy to have winter over with. I do and I am. I’m taking long walks with my dog and smiling more and even rhapsodizing about flowers now and then.
But you know from my title where this is going, don’t you? I have a bit of a gripe with spring.
Picture me last Friday, the day of very my first in-person interview for an upcoming article in Canadian Bookseller Magazine. Of course I want to appear charming, intelligent, self-possessed, etc. Instead I spend the morning wheezing and sniffling and my right eye, rubbed in the middle of the night when I was too sleepy to consider the consequences, won’t stop watering. Yep, I’ve got a one-eyed tragedy happening and no amount of eye drops, anti-histimines or folded pieces of paper towel soaked in cold water are doing a bit of good. In addition, because of lack of sleep and sinus trouble, I look like I’ve been punched in both eyes.
The first application of my trusty Mac Studio Fix only succeeds in making me look like a vampire and soon my watering eye has smeared everything anyway and I have to start over.
Eventually, with some blush and lipstick and holding my breath and tipping my head backwards and swearing and praying to various gods, I manage to get myself looking human and head out the door.
Luckily the eye starts to chill during my drive down to Queen West and a short, brisk walk helps me gather myself and (ironically) alleviates my symptoms, leading me to wonder if I’m allergic to my house, my dog or perhaps my neighborhood. Regardless, I make it to the interview somewhat composed, if not razor sharp, stunningly beautiful and painfully hip, as I’d like to be. (Need it be said that this is a stretch on any day and that I live in track pants?!)
To my immense relief, all goes smoothly from there. The interview is fun, the interviewer smart, interesting and lovely and my eye hardly waters at all. And I’m hoping when the article comes out she doesn’t say I huffed or snuffled or looked like I hadn’t slept in days.
All’s well that ends well, as Shakespeare said.
Except for this: Spring not only blooms, it lurks. I know from wheezy, sneezy, itchy experience that spring lays in wait. It lays in wait for other important days and events on this, the year of my debut, lays waiting to send its molds and pollens into the air at the worst possible moments, threatening to render me puffy, watery and helpless.
It is only April 10th and the battle has just begun.