Ah, May. My birth month. The month of mothers. The month of rebirth, blooms, and “let’s brunch in a garden” energy. I adore May with a passion reserved for vintage earrings and hot coffee on cool mornings. 

But this May? This May is testing me. Testing my will, my tear ducts, and my entire sinus system.

I currently look like I just wandered off the set of Hitch. You know, the iconic Will Smith allergic reaction scene? Puffy eyes, blotchy face, a dazed confusion in my step. Except I didn’t eat shellfish; I merely dared to walk past a blooming tree. A tree! A symbol of life! And now my eyelids are doing their best impression of marshmallows left in the microwave too long. 

There’s ointment in my eyes. OINTMENT. I look like I’m on my way to battle fog monsters, not to brunch. I’m walking around bleary-eyed, sniffling like I just finished watching a Nicholas Sparks movie while chopping onions in a wind tunnel.  Aw, Ryan Gosling. I digress.

And let’s not even talk about the sneezes. I am a sneeze machine. Rapid-fire. Impressive, really. I scare dogs and startle children. My throat itches like it has existential angst. I’m one croak away from becoming the villain in a scratchy-voiced musical. 

But oh, May. You still seduce me with your sunny disposition and celebratory vibes. You gift me cupcakes, tulips, and the occasional surprise piñata. You whisper “It’s your time to shine,” even as I squint through the pollen haze like a confused mole emerging from hibernation. 

I love you, May. I do. But if you could kindly tell the trees to stop flirting with the wind like it’s a pollination-themed rom-com, I’d appreciate it. In the meantime, I’ll be over here with my antihistamines, my sunglasses (indoors), and my sense of humor hanging by a thread of Claritin-induced clarity.