Lightweight

I'm a lightweight.

It's a good thing I don't drink, because, if I did, I'd probably be dead by now.

Right now, I'm totally loopy on Benadryl. I can barely keep my head up, my brain feels like it's swimming in vegetable oil, and my eyes won't stay open.

But at least I'm not sneezing anymore.

I've never really taken Benadryl before. Like most men, I prefer to suffer through life's more mundane illnesses like sinus ailments. However, today, Mrs. Apron and I journeyed to the pre-school where she taught for 3 years to do our annual read to the kids day. If I was going to capivate a room full of squirmy three-year-olds, my sneezing fit would simply not do.

So I popped two Benadryl, and now I feel retarxicated.

When I was a pre-adolescent, I took two Dimetap, fifteen minutes later, I crumpled to the floor like an autumn leaf, only without the gracefulness or the symbolism.

I did just fine for the kids. I read a book called "Rainbow Fish" about a fish who learns that giving feels good when he shares his gorgeous, luminous scales with the other, plainer fish. I usually read "Plaid Bear & the Rude Rabbit Gang," once a year, but the teacher had read it already, and so I was forced to learn a new book. I tend to perseverate, so this was a bit of a change for me, but I didn't stamp my feet and scream or start fwapping my arms about like a kid with Aspergers would do.

The children were very attentive. They kept scooting up and scooting up closer to listen until they were practically in my lap. I love reading to them, using all my different accents and voices for the different characters.

"A lot of voices live inside me," I told the children.

"Do you take medication for that?" asked the teacher as my wife, sitting criss-cross-apple-sauce, cracked up. (We don't call it "Indian Style" anymore, children of the '80s.)

"No, just Benadryl," I joked, not realizing that, a mere hour later I would be as sloppy as a six-drink minimum.

Overall, it was a big success. It's nice for my wife to come back to her old, Quaker school with its high expectations of kids and its thoughtful structure, as she's used to store-front daycare settings where aides sit around all day, ignoring the children, as their buttflab cascades over the miniscule chairs like Niagara falls. This phenomenon is referred to as "Daycare Butt," which is very closely related to a syndrome I know of from my ambulance days, "Dispatch Butt" and its closely-related cousin, "Medic Paunch."

I have been sent home from work so that I might "sleep it off" before rehearsal tonight, because I am essentially non-functional, though I'm pretty sure this is a relatively cogent blog entry, so maybe I'm not as off as people think I am right now. Then again, I might not be the best judge. Writing blog entries is basically easy business. Focusing for longer than two minutes on an Excel spreadsheet is an entirely different matter.

So, children, the lesson for today:

Don't forget to share your pretty scales with those less fortunate.

But keep your Benadryl to yourself.