At least it's not lice.

I am allergic to a lot of things. Random things. Some foods. Some perfumes. Some insects. Some plants. Wool dyed a certain color (IE my high school uniform blazer). Some detergents. Not even whole brands of detergent. Just, perhaps, one scent out of twenty. Or even the unscented one. You never know. And, I can go through eight bottles of one particular kind of detergent, and the ninth will suddenly cause me a problem.

For two weeks by mid-day I am so itching, I have to take medicine. Hives. I started logging what I ate each day to figure out what it possible was. The only thing that I can potentially come up with is a certain drink at Starbucks. I quit going for days. The itching gets worse. What the hell? Then I try to figure out where on my body I am the most itchy. Head, yes. Oh God, what if it is lice! I panic. I make Kenny check my whole head. I am terrified that I might get those creepy little bugs on me one day. No lice. Kenny also points out lice don't cause hives. Whatever, you can never be too safe. I go back to my itchiness assessment. Back, oh yes. Arms, dear Lord yes. Legs? A bit. Although. It is only my thighs. As in where shorts hit. I haven't worn long pants in months. It is the detergent. The same brand and scent I have been buying for months. Anywhere on my body that comes on contact with fabric at any point in the day is itchy. And I just washed every single bit of the laundry before we went on vacation.

Sorting everything into laundry loads, I survey the damage. My clothes alone, eight loads. I will have to rewash Emmi's clothes, because I hold her all day. The towels will all have to be washed. Sheets. Blankets. The couch cushions I washed two weeks ago and have since thought the fabric seemed rough and itchy, although no one else seemed to feel that way. I am going to be doing laundry for the next two weeks. Or I could wash a few things, wear only those, and call it a day.