Oh, my goodness, can not anything be easy? Seriously, anything at all????

B planned a party for the Fourth that included much game playing, including my beloved Chicken Foot Dominos. How do I respond? Escalating to the need of jamming an Epipen into the thigh. By all rights I should have gone to the ER. [Although B keeps telling me doing so will be a better experience than than which I have had, I am loathe to do so whilst with her.]

It started so innocently enough: G's best friend R's wife N was a bit taken aback at how competitive B and I were when engaged in game playing. I made the comment that she and I were like wild dogs. B, with her ever so quick wit that I love so very dearly, added that we were "ferile." I hooted and hollared and then started coughing then wheezing then gasping.

Is there anything worse than having an asthma attack triggored by hearty laughter? That is my lot in life? Asthama triggored by smoke/smog, cold air, and laughter. That stinks!

I wanted this visit to be peaceful and restful, one marked by my presence being a help, not a hindrance. But, nay, such is not the case. Such will never be the case.

My chest hurts, my breathing is still labored, and the slighted hint of humor is enough to send me spiraling out of control again. I have the six pillows I brought with me, but it will still be a long, long night for me.

Why can I not simply bask in the warmth that is B's home?