Poor Stevie

It’s really immature and narky of me but how the hell do I tell people to quit saying “Bless you!” after I sneeze. This seems like a small problem, and really it would be if I didn’t sneeze twice every five minutes. No, for real. I’m allergic to everything. My pillow, our blankets, the carpet, Joel’s manfume, Joel’s deodorant, my deodorant, the upholstery on bus seats, the Daily Telegraph, autumn leaves, the grey jumper I’m wearing today, my red bracelets, my office, the office fridge, the photocopier ink, my keyboard at work, the ABC AM program.

It sounds like I’m exaggerating, I know. But quit saying bless you. For one thing, I don’t need to be blessed. I am already – I have awesome Mississippi mud cake in my bag. For another thing, aren’t you bothering Jeebus who has to bless me every five minutes when he’d rather be watching The Sopranos?

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