Unlike most people, my food allergies were adult-onset.
As if I didn't feel strange enough that my body saw a peanut for the zillionth time, and its calm and measured reaction was to swell up and reject the evil can of Planter's, every doctor and specialist I visited mentioned
something similar as I sat in a paper outfit watching my skin pimple from the room temperature.
And while, overall, the switch to organic eating (because I am also sensitive to pesticides and food additives) has resulted in some great benefits, yesterday was Halloween.
When I was little, Reese's Peanut Butter Cups and Mr. Goodbars were my favorite things to find in my orange plastic pumpkin. My younger sister and I would sit in the middle of the floor and dump our pumpkins after an evening of tramping around our neighborhood. We would carefully count and sort our loot. Mom would check it and take her Reese's tax, and then we would carefully hide the rest of our chocolate from each other and Mom. Otherwise, the Reese's tax would become regressive.
So how do my Halloween experiences, peanut allergy, and last night's festivities connect?
Weeble trick-or-treated in a friend's neighborhood last night. To be more clear, she ran up and down the sidewalk as fast as her short little legs could carry her, as she chirped "hi" to everyone she passed. Better Half carried her plastic bucket and collected candy, and I kept her out of the street. (She trucked along as if covering as much pavement as possible was her job, never realizing that collecting candy was actually the point.)
When we returned to our friend's house, I checked her bucket. Everything was appropriately wrapped. There were plenty of Reese's. And my Mommy tax? A couple of sleeves of Smarties.
I guess Daddy gets the Peanut Butter Cups.
But I can mourn the loss.
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