Like many other fellow Atlanta bloggers, I’m enduring the pollen today, though with less than stellar results. The Alavert and the Guaifenesin,they do nothing.

I’m surviving, but I sound like the asthmatic, smoking uncle of James Earl Jones.

So I’m in my wife’s building for a meeting and I run up to her floor because they the frou-frou/shi-shi/hoity-toity coffee and I get stuck on the elevator, the one that smells.

It’s been likened to:

  • B.O.
  • Cat Urine
  • Boxwoods
  • Dank

Personally I think any of the above would be an improvement. Nothing says “fun time in a confined, mirrored space” quite like nausea-inducing odors. And this is through a pollen haze, so you know it stinks in there.

That’s just the icing on sauerkraut-and-toadstool cake of a day. Nothing as weird as touring other people’s homes or having Obama jokes hollered at me or ice cream accusations, but the day’s not over yet.

If I could share one life lesson it’s this: don’t subject yourself to the extra calories of the vanilla creamer on a day when you can’t taste it anyhow.

Monday!