Last night I had a dilemma. I could take the anti-inflammatory drug prescribed by my doctor to fight the pain in my lower back, or I could take a sinus/allergy pill in order to breathe.
Since the anti-inflammatory cautioned against taking anything with acetaminophen or ibuprofen I was forced to choose. Did I want to lie awake all night due to an excruciatingly painful back or due to a headache from the depths of hell? Decisions, decisions.
Then I remembered that Studly Doright had just bought an economy sized bottle of the antihistamine Benadryl. While it wouldn’t necessarily help with my congestion, it might just knock me out enough that I didn’t care about breathing.
Studly has his own medical stash separate from mine, a tradition started back when he once accidentally took the menstrual cramp reliever Midol and subsequently tried to puke them up lest he develop feminine attributes. Since then our drugs don’t occupy the same space. It’s a rule.
His nearly full bottle of Benadryl was front and center among his medicine collection. It took a couple of seconds to negotiate the child safety cap, but soon I had all those little pink pills at my disposal.
That’s when Studly chose to surreptitiously come up behind me and playfully demand, “What do you think you’re doing?”
I shrieked and lost control of the bottle, sending it on a vertical trajectory aimed for the bathroom skylight. Little pink pills went everywhere. Everywhere. I was still finding them behind perfume atomizers and cosmetic jars this morning.
And since my back wouldn’t let me bend over, poor Studly had to pick up all of the pills that landed on the floor. That’ll teach him to sneak up on me when I’m thieving.
Fortunately I salvaged a couple of pills last night ensuring a deep sleep. Of course I still have the same dilemma tonight, and Studly has declared his medicine cabinet off-limits. I wonder how many glasses of wine equal two Benadryl?