I woke with a constellation of scabby, pustules oozing across my face. A ghastly scroll through google image showed that rashes exist on a continuum, from a scattered few bumps to a full body take-over of icky raw hideousness.
Am I using a new soap? No.
Shampoo? Laundry detergent? Lotion? No. No. No.
Did I eat something weird? No.
Not that I can remember what I ate or where I went yesterday...
Oh wait. Yesterday I worked in
(cue ominous music)
THE GARDEN!
Was there some misunderstanding?
Did my plants read my puttering ministrations as a slashing sap-bath of horror?
Could they, in their photosynthesizing-paranoia, interpret my weeding and re-potting as going hostile with the trowel?
Is this out-break on my face their REVENGE seeping pure hatred from my stinging pores!
If so --- Hear this, you spiny spiteful cacti & flesh-eating succulents:
While you plot my itchy demise and plan for the glorious composting of my flesh, know that even poisoned and disfigured
this is a desert and I control the HOSE!
Amy
