WATERY WEATHERED WISPY WINK

            Bleak black blank blink... watery weathered wispy wink... nothing out... nothing in... bleak black blank blink... watery weathered wispy wink...

             Cheryl knew that too unwell too pale look: the lull before the storm, the receding tide before tsunami, the rumble before...

            Mount Tim spewed lava salad, grabbed water glass, rinsed and in near panic searched restaurant table, then floor, then table again, grabbed salad bowl and spit.  As he repeated the rinsing, a lady at nearby table gagged; her husband glared.

            Elbow on table, Cheryl clutched forehead in palm, sighed, "Not again."

            "Onions," Tim stared into salad, picked at it with fork, exposed dreaded veggie.

            "Tim," Cheryl warned.

            "Onions in the salad," Tim's pale face lightly flushed.

            "People are watching," Cheryl breathed under breath.

            "Can they not get an order right?" His face grew redder.

            Cheryl reached across table, held his hand.

            "They tried to kill me!  Which part of no onions, I am allergic to onions, please make sure no onions touch my food, do people not understand?" Tim rinsed mouth and spit again.  The salad bowl overflowed onto table.  Tim weakly choked out, "Doctor."

            "Oh alas, forsooth and woe is me, Tim.  Just shut up.  Your prima donna has merged with your drama queen." Cheryl raised eyebrow.

            Tim shut it, but grew even redder in the face, like an over ripe tomato about to burst in blazing mid-day sun.

            "I am sick of your hypochondria induced anger.  You need a doctor alright, a psychiatrist!" Cheryl flared a little anger of her own.

            The eerily silent face of Tim morphed from red to purple, his eyes crossed, he slumped forward at increasing velocity, until viola: ker-splatting face into onion laced salad bowl and plowing tsunami of water logged lettuce, tomato, cucumber and onion toward dress and wincing face of Cheryl.

            "Tim! You pig! You have embarrassed me for the last time!"  Cheryl would have made a screaming banshee proud.

            ...A tad later, sitting in the St. Patrick Hospital E.R. waiting room, Cheryl found no solace from the fact that she would never again be embarrassed by her husband.  Sat there too unwell with a too pale look... bleak black blank blink... watery weathered wispy wink...


            Postscript: Until it strikes too close to home, it is often hard for us, who do not suffer allergy or other illness, to relate to those who do.  At the least we should not criticize, belittle, nor make light of.  Perhaps we might even protect and love instead; as in speak blessings: Proverbs 16:24 KJ, "Pleasant words are as an honey comb, sweet to the soul, and health to the bones."