Histimine

If there is one thing--other than a substantially larger IQ--that I wish my genetic makeup would have blessed me with, it is a more robust constitution.

In particular, I wish I didn't have seasonal allergies.

Yes, I know, I could have something really messed up with me, but in a country where many women aren't happy with something as trivial as their breast size, I think I'm being pretty reasonable and non-cosmetic.

I always felt bad for people who lived in the Olden Days of American Times, when the Dust Bowl days got to be too much for their sinuses, and had to live in dug outs seething with mildew and mold. Or the farmer who was literally allergic to hay and animal dander. Or the poor farmer's wife who ahd to help with sheep shearing and spin and knit woolen sweaters which gave her hives, but it was either that or freeze to death in the wintertime. (I mean, thank Modernity for polar-tech fleece!)

I'm glad I didn't live back in those Olden Days, because I probably would have gone into anaphylactic shock as an infant the minute my mother wrapped me in a beaver hide layette set to keep me warm. How tragic.