The construction work happened three and a half months ago, and Gary still suffers from his dust allergy.
This morning I was watching One Day on Netflix, and -- and I don’t think this is a spoiler -- a woman complains to her husband about “the construction and the noise and the dust.” [Emphasis: mine. Mineminemine.] I replayed it for Gary when he woke up.
Sadly, that set him off. After he talked about the dust and the particulate matter and the allergens for forty-five minutes, I banged my head against the back of my chair and pleaded,“Stop. Talking. About. The. Allergens.”
“I wasn’t talking about allergens,” he claimed. “I was talking about physics.”
“The Physics chapter of the Allergens encyclopedia in your head.”
I feel that a lot of the allergen issues could be mitigated if I could clean, but of course, he feels that will just kick up the dust. I have resorted to coaxing the cat into the corners under the bed so he can pick up the white dust with his black fur.
This is not going to end until it is warm enough for us to clean with the windows open, fans in each window. About a month from now. As Gary explained, “We can’t clean until winter’s over. That’s why it's called spring cleaning.” As if the only time one is allowed to clean is in the special season reserved for that.