As of today, it's official. Spring has sprung. Don't deny it. It has, too. Maybe not in your neck of the woods, but over here in Sherman Oaks, I'm so full of spring, so overly-pollinated, that with proper watering, I could be my own Chia Head. Given my personal pollen count, grass and flowers would bloom from my scalp, I'm sure of it. A couple spritzes of Miracle Gro would bring forth the daisies, but then I'd sneeze even more, and I'm already doing enough of that as it is, so I'll stick with hair spray. Sneezing and wheezing eat up most of my day, and I'm not talking dainty little girly-girl sneezes. My sneezes are thunderous. They're a force to be reckoned with, I promise you. My sneezes echo and roar and knock down passersby. I scare old ladies and children with my stereophonic ACHOOs. One look at my red nose, my watery eyes and dark circles and folks run the other way in fear. Of course, not everyone bolts on my behalf. Hubby tells me I've never looked lovelier. This explains why I married him. He tells it like it is, even when it's not true.
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