They are everywhere this time of year. Dotting the roadsides fruit stands. Pyramids of packages at the grocery stores. Shortcakes on every menu. Recipe pins galore on Pinterest linking you to every gardening and cooking site around.
Well that’s what they tell you. They tell me don’t eat that salad and better carry a chocolate bar cause you won’t be having the pie for dessert. I am allergic to strawberries.
But in high school there was one episode that turned the tide for me. I threw up violently. In public. Couldn’t stop. And if that wasn’t embarrassment enough they had to wheel me out to my friends car. Mind you all before the advent or at least the readied availability of cell phones. Upon arrival my face was ashen, my body covered in large red whelps and mom in near panic mode. A neighbor, a nurse, came over and ordered Benedryl stat! I’d had an allergic reaction. And since a large bowl of strawberries was all I’d had she said that it was a good bet I was allergic. But I’ve eaten them my whole life. Sometimes these things just develop.
An ER trip, steroid shot and antihistamine latter and I’m back at the office. At least Ben doesn’t roll his eyes anymore when I grill our hosts or waiters.
“Are there strawberries in that?”