Did you know cherry allergies are a thing? I didn’t know this. Not until last night. I bought a big bag of Rainier cherries with every intention of sitting in a big cushy recliner and watching the Olympics and not rejoining society until I absolutely had to, only to end up eating maybe six of them and ending up with a big scratchy face and a slightly big swollen tongue. Good. There were a huge bag of Bing cherries on our counter last week or so. I ate maybe three while I was sitting outside. I felt a little itchy, but I just thought it was my regular allergies.
I’m going to be the baking blogger for my local Patch site. I wish I would have known this before I made a thousand Cinnamon Toast Crunch cupcakes and a big ol’ pan of caramel slice this weekend. Now I have to come up with something way cooler for my post there. No pressure, though.
I also made the decision to stop wearing makeup a few weeks ago, with the exception of a day or two when I get my monthly Birchbox. I wish I would have done this a long time ago. My rosacea doesn’t want to take over my life and I get ready so much quicker now. Fun fact: I’m almost 27 years old and I don’t know how to put on lipstick properly. And I also really don’t know what I’m doing with eyeliner. I just act like I do. I also can’t walk in heels higher than maybe an inch. Not even wedges.
Speaking of not being able to walk in wedges, I don’t think I told this story on here yet. I bought these cute maybe-1-inch wedge sandals for work because we all got a NO
WIRE HANGERS CASUAL SANDALS email from HR the other day and it was time to retire my Old Navy flip flops. I went out to the vending machine to get Pop Tarts, jokingly told two of my coworkers not to tell on me for standing out there texting (because I’m basically the only person in the office not allowed to text and I’m not bitter about this at all), walked back into the office, headed towards the kitchen to toast the Pop Tarts, turned around to say something to someone, and twisted my ankle. Fat girl down! I fell right where everyone (four people, really) could see me, into a wall and hitting my head on the door of our sales office.
I hopped up best I could and limped into the kitchen, where I laughed hysterically while toasting my Pop Tarts because that’s how I deal with stress. I had a little bit of a brush burn on my foot, but no big.
Yeah, well. I sprained my ankle, stress-fractured a bone in the top of my foot, and that brush burn was 1/4 burn and 3/4 deep, horrible wound. It was awful. Maybe the size of a silver dollar and really painful. It’s still there, but much smaller. I still don’t know if I cut it like that on my sandal or on the carpet. I just started being able to bend my foot again without any pain about a week ago. Plus, between the swelling and the location of the cut, the only shoes I’ve been able to wear are those same Old Navy flip flops I’m not supposed to. This is what they get for making a very ungraceful woman wear shoes she has no business being in.
(For the record, our dress code basically allows for me to wear jeans and a t-shirt every day, which is why I was wearing Old Navy flip flops in the first place.)