Yesterday and today are shaping up to be bad bad asthma days.
Late yesterday morn I made the mistake of pulling out six yards of a silky like fabric I'd bought four years ago to craft a dress I'd seen at a boutique and wanted but hated the only color it came in, mushroomy beige. The shade of old mushrooms just looks wrong on me, clashing with my skin tones so I immediately remembered I had a bunch of green touched with gold batik silk like fabric I bought because it was on clearance and I loved the color.
Too bad the fabric didn't love me. I cut the fabric, started sewing on it and about ten minutes in had the most horrific asthma attack. It was so fierce I ended up using my nebulizer three times that day and it still only partially settled down the breathing problems. That fabric has obviously been treated with something chemical I'm allergic to. It's residing in a sealed plastic bag til I hand wash it and dry it outside.
After an afternoon and evening spent huffing on my nebulizer and lolling about on the sofa and bed I went to bed and figured I'd start anew this morning. I got nothing done yesterday.
This morning from the first moment I got up and dressed it was go, go, go. Jim and I ran errands together. When we went to the bank something very disturbing happened. The car next to ours was a solid black Cadillac Escalade with mostly dark tinted windows. Both Jim and I could see that in the second row of seats there was a toddler and a girl of perhaps five strapped into child car seats. The car was running, keys in the ignition, but with no one about that looked adult enough to be watching the kids. The windows were so dark we were unable to see past the second seat.
I've run into this a couple of times in the past here and I usually snap a happy snap of the license plate and kids before calling the local cop shop to report children alone in a car. If the car is gone before I leave I forward the responding officer the photos I took on my cell so they can talk to the careless miscreant and throw the fear of the law into them.
This time I realized my cell phone was home still plugged into the wall charging.
So we went into the bank. There was only one other customer, a lady of perhaps mid thirties to early forties, dressed expensively and trended with lots of jewelry, makeup and careful blonde streaks in her hair. I walked over to her and asked her if the black Escalade was her car. She said yes and I asked her if she'd left the kids unsupervised because it looked like she had left her two young children alone in the car. She told me she had a 15 year old sitting in the third row of seats watching the kids. I said, okay, fine, I just wanted to make sure the kids weren't in harms way.... and it should have ended there. Right?
Come out of the bank and the lady is in her car, windows down and she calls me over and starts telling me how I hurt her feelings and embarrassed her in front of the bank employees. I just about choked on my tongue. Embarrassed her? Hurt her feelings? She's so damn butthurt it is almost comical.
I had to point out that normally I call the cops and let them handle it but this time I gave her the benefit of the doubt by asking instead of immediately calling or getting the bank to call. She seemed willfully determined to ignore the fact that I did this out of concern for the kids. To her it was all about her. Her, her, her..
Walked away shaking my head, wondering what the hell is wrong with people that if you inquire about their children that they make it all about them and their feelings. Now every time I'm going to call the police.
And over to the post office where an older lady at the counter triggered my asthma hard with her cologne, body spray, deodorant or something. I know I freaked out the post master by backing up as far as I could get from this pile of chemicals and going straight into my rescue breathing till she left and we mailed our package. Postmaster wanted to know what the heck was going on, I told her and she acted like I was nuts.
Now I'm shaking from having to guzzle drugs and use the neb again with the solution that makes my heart pound. Day went right to shit first thing in the morning. I still cannot breath and I've been laying down most of the day. Oh why oh why can't I just be sealed into a plastic bubble like the boy in "Bubble Boy" And I'm having to fight to get disability? Knitter please!
The rest of the weekend is shaping up to be me laying on the sofa crocheting in a drug-fueled haze.
Still cannot get over the lady that thought I was hurting her feelings by asking if her kids were in the car alone. Officially disgusted right now.