This was written shortly after we moved to Florida, when I broke out in a terrible rash. I won’t get into the details of the rash, but it was not fun.
At first I was worried that I might be allergic to something in the environment which would make life in Florida unbearable for me. Then I went to the first doctor I ever visited in Florida. His examination room was furnished with folding chairs, and he spent most of the appointment telling me about how his mother had fallen in with a con artist who was cheating the doctor of his inheritance. He assured me that the rash was not an allergic reaction, but I still walked away concerned that life in Florida would be unbearable for me.
Note from Missy: And now that we don’t live in Florida anymore, we can say with confidence that it was only … partially unbearable.
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