Indeed, like any well-oiled machine, the pine pollen drops right about now every spring, and we are privileged to savor its delights as it cakes our sidewalks and driveways, parks and pathways, instigating allergic reactions in just about every Bermtopian I know. It's a dandy pollen, capable of bringing even the mightiest antihistamine to its knees, whimpering like a school girl.
Of course, it COULD just be an allergic reaction to The Yellow Menace. You just never know.
This is the moment in spring where cube farms and offices across Bermtopia are pummeled with wave after wave of epic sneezing approaching decibel levels that make a sonic boom sound like a whisper in church. Many friends and co-workers sound as if they're talking underwater or gargling molasses, and almost everyone I know, is afflicted with Blinking Eye Syndrome.
Imagine a city of 250,000 all looking like someone whose Significant Other just turned on the bedroom light in the middle of the night.
Rain and wind don't even put a dent in dispelling the accursed stuff. If anything they compound the problem, the rain creating little indestructible Yellow Menance Cakes and wind efficiently distributing a dusting of yellow across any unprotected surface in my house.
But I'm not complaining. The pine pollen dump is a time-honored seasonal rite of passage, yet another sign we've emerged from the dark, heinous bowels of winter. . . much like the nights plunging to the high 30s as soon as I plant my tomatoes.
It's spring. . . Memorial Day Weekend. . . a three-day weekend. More than enough time to be one with The Yellow Menace -- for yet another year. Happy Memorial Day!
And drinking worm water at the park
Please send help.