When Poison Ivy Attacks… again.

Posted on | September 11, 2012 | 6 Comments

Dear Dr. Dermatology:

You may or may not know this, but I’m a single mom with two dogs.  This means that I have the distinct pleasure of being, well, basically covered in grossness at all times when I’m at my home.  If it’s not poop from potty training, it’s poop from cleaning up the back yard.  If it’s not snot on my t-shirt, it’s slobber on my shorts.  The moments when I can feel pressed and put together are reserved for my time at work: a glorious place where I can sport grown up heels and snazzy dresses.  Work is my escape.  It is where I can put on big girl clothes and pretend they won’t get ruined when I wear them at home.  It is where I can pretend that I’m just a single woman, not a single mom, sporting my trendy clothes and my “I’m so single” smile.  It’s where I can flirt with opposing counsels or random people I run into at a restaurant and pretend they’d still like me when they find out I have a toddler.

So when I come to you with, well… let’s face it… what can only be referred to as herpes of the leg for the fifth time in less than six months, I do not like it when you smile and tell me it will run its course.  When you put on your patronizing “some people are more susceptible to poison ivy and you’ll have to learn to live with that” voice, I want to put my ass kicking shoes on and kick you in your nut sack.  I am a single mom.  Don’t you think I have enough strikes against me in the dating pool without throwing in “Nasty rash that could be mutating into flesh eating virus?” Don’t you think that I have enough on my plate, what with the kid and the dogs and the full time job and the house and the bills and dear GOD the drama without throwing into the mix the awesome feeling of being totally un-sexy in every possible way? I look like I’ve been horribly scarred, here, doc.  So your conservative medicine techniques? The ones that you’re so lauded for and about? Yeah.  You can shove that shit where the sun don’t shine.

Momma has standards.  Momma needs to put on her pretty clothes and feel, well, PRETTY when she can.  Momma would very much like to go on a date or be asked on a date or hell, be thought about for a freaking date.  I’m tired of feeling frumpy, Doc.  I’m tired of being embarrassed by whatever body part is currently sporting this summer’s look of the season: Mottled, blistered red skin.  Momma does NOT need to hide her leg at all times in order to prevent the “DEAR LORD MRSA!!! EPIDEMIC!!” stares that seem to follow her around if she dares to wear her summer work clothes.

So let’s be clear on something, okay, Doc? Shut your smug “poison ivy happens” mouth, grab a syringe, and pump me full of some strong ass drugs that will make this go away.  I don’t care what the lasting effects are on my body.  I don’t care if in forty years they will find out the drug makes me grow a mustache. I CAN SHAVE, DAMMIT.  I’m tired of this crap! Give me the drugs that will clear this up or direct me to someone who will.

Love,

Me

 

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