Rarely do dreams homes come without work. Painting, gardening, and especially unpacking. Mine also came with a mailbox held up by rocks with many-legged inhabitants.
Six hours of digging in the rocky ground full of the remains of the last ice age's boulders and we completed that project.
Two days later I have poison ivy popping up everywhere. My ankles, the back of my knees, my neck, my arms, and now it's in my hair. MY HAIR. I can't control how I sleep or what I touch while unconscious...
Trying to prevent the spread, I have so many band-aids on, I look like I survived a wood chipper.
So there I am at the doc's begging for help. She says, "How'd you get it in your hair?"
"Oh you know, I made a crown of it so the wee folk would recognize me as their queen....I DON'T KNOW, JUST FIX IT!"
Apparently there's little else to do, but treat topically, stop scratching (yeah right) and take a steroid. So I'm washing my hair with stuff for the rash, no hair products and I can't put my contacts in because my hands may be contaminated.
My husband has one little spot that got in a cut. You'd think he was dying. Boo. Hoo.
It's bad enough I look like Merida (from Brave) anyway, but no gel or mousse? Looks like we're eating whatever's in the house until I can go out again when this clears up or my haz-mat suit arrives.
Let's see, we've got some celery, vegetable crackers, some jello, and a dusty can of clam chowder....