I love spring, but it doesn’t always love me. Which is why Zyrtec – or more precisely, its generic cousin – is my friend. Without my daily dose of this miracle drug (and the copious amount of local honey I consume) to keep me on the straight and narrow, I would be nothing more than a phlegmy, sniffling, sneezing, runny-eyed mess.

Allergy sufferers, you know what I mean.

This year, despite my faith in my anti-histamine of choice, I find myself living in fear. It started last week during my weekly golf league when one of my shots went awry and, um... OK. Fine. I hit a tree.

That in and of itself isn’t really shocking. The noxious cloud of pollen released after my ball made contact, however, was. It was all I could do not to run for the hills screaming, “Run, run for your lives!”

But I suppressed my panic, and my fight or flight impulse, and continued the round. I thought it best not to show fear. Particularly since shrieking like a little girl is frowned upon out on the golf course.