Welcome to Wicked Wednesday!
I developed a nut allergy when I was 16. Not a bad one. I don’t go into anaphylactic shock or anything, but enough.
I always loved peanut butter as a kid. I ate it a lot, and it was never a problem. Obviously, it had been a while since I’d had it though, when one fine evening I fancied myself a piece of peanut butter toast.
It was fine for about an hour and half, by which time I’d decided to go to bed. Then the itching started.
I thought it was a mosquito, and I was whinging, but to some extent we all knew I was playing it up for the fun of it, I was enjoying the dramatic effect.
It continued, and I continued to scratch. To no avail.
I felt some bumps popping up, and finally resigned myself to the fact that I’d have to turn the light back on and have a look.
Welts. Huge welts, bigger than most coins, and raised a centimetre off of my skin. You laugh, don’t you? What else can you do? Your mum panics a little. She googles what to do (toothpaste helps hives, by the way).
You get told to stop scratching, but it’s so hard. You try not to scratch the welt now on your face, and you think back to the events of the evening.
Peanut butter toast. I’m allergic to nuts.
The hives calmed down by the next day, I spent a long evening watching Patch Adams waiting for them to, and next time I tried eating nuts, my allergy was confirmed.
If only nutella wasn’t so magnificent.