Allergic Reaction: a Flash Faction

The short woman in a helmet and spandex at the Hawai'i Bicycle League fundraiser said she figured there was a time for her to die, and she'd rather do it riding her bike at night than sitting on the couch. She was a retired merchant mariner (that's the correct term, she informed us) who was stopped by the police once because, as they told her, they'd stopped a Hispanic man and needed a white woman to make up for that. When they asked her if she had guns in the car, she kept her hands on the wheel and rattled off the five or six guns of various caliber and size she had in the front, the back, the trunk. Moving back to Georgia and all. Her nephew's a famous animation artist, but she usually doesn't tell people because it sounds snooty (she said this while relating the fact that she'd told someone before the Oscars one year; she wouldn't be watching because he hadn't been nominated). At some point she informed me that she's eccentric, which I never would have guessed. After talking to her, I ambled off to the pupu table and picked up snacks, including what appeared to be pretzel chunks. I avoided the hummus, which I'm allergic to. Bit into a pretzel, only to realize it was filled with peanut butter, to which I'm violently allergic. So, before the dinner started, Bryant and I made a beeline to the car and headed to Moanalua Hospital. I added two Benadryl to my beer and said some mantras. By the time we got there it seemed clear I wasn't going into anaphylactic shock, but the doctor decided to fill me with steroids and have me watched for two hours, just in case. Happy it wasn't my time.