I found two patches of poison ivy under my climbing rose. These plants are the culprit of last year's poison ivy debacle of 2008. Not used to this noxious weed in my yard, I merrily weeded the area around my rose bush. The next morning I woke to find something that looked like PRID on my wrist and hand. I tried to wipe it off, but it wouldn't budge. Then I rubbed the hell out of it to remove the tenacious resin. I nearly picked through my skin trying. Next came the familiar blisters and pain. Frickin' Poison Ivy. Well, it wasn't the Poison Ivy of the Fall of 2004. Because I dug into my skin trying to remove the plant goo, the poison ivy penetrated deeper into my wrist. I still have a scar; that looked weird yesterday when I Lucy Balled the Fix-A-Flat and ended up with foamy, nauseating chemical on my wrist (I will never buy this stuff again--goddamn chemicals!). I couldn't shake the plant's manifestations. I had to go to the doctor and got a shot. It was my mission after that miserable event to find my allergen foe. Alas! I found it. Now my non-allergic husband is going to wear long sleeves and spray some foam stuff (foam is in) that is told to have a half-life of 24 hours.
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