Yesterday at my daughter's birthday celebration my husband was exposed to a pungent and unusually muscular variety of dog or cat dander that had him sneezing his head off.
For hours.
When it was time to go to bed, I suggested--not for the first time, mind you--that he take some Benadryl. He'd never taken it before, but we keep a small supply of it around to keep the kids' ears from exploding on long airplane rides.
But this is Mr. Mistrusts-All-Over-the-Counter Drugs we're talking about. He's willing to take the enteric aspirin his doctor recommends. And he's been known to swallow the occasional Tylenol. But that's it. So it was only because he really was miserable, and he'd been sneezing and blowing his nose for about five hours, and he was about to go to sleep, that my powers of persuasion finally became strong enough to convince him. So after, oh, say, 10 or 15 minutes of explaining that an antihistamine was exactly what he needed, he finally agreed to take a single tablet of Benadryl. It's a miracle! And it only took 19 years of marriage!
And then, this morning, his first words to me were:
"Wow, I slept great last night. That Benadryl stuff is amazing."
and the kicker:
" You should have made me take it a long time ago."
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