The Itchy & Scratchy Show

A few years back I spent the summer making opera in a small college town in northern New England. On a rare day off, I set off with a group of friends to go tubing for the first time. We floated down the river for hours, drinking beer and frequently falling out of our tubes (I deny any connection between the two). At the end of the afternoon we climbed out of the river up a plant-filled embankment to get back to our cars. It should have been no surprise when almost exactly 24 hours later a patch of raised red bumps showed up on my arm and started itching like crazy. By that time, of course, the poison ivy oil was on my towels, my sheets, and my clothes, so the rash spread for the next few days, eventually making it up my neck to my face. It was a highly unpleasant experience that prompted me to learn what poison ivy looks like and become ultra-vigilant when hiking and doing other outdoorsy activities.

Which is all fine and good, except that I haven't been hiking recently. In fact, I haven't been outside much at all, unless you count walking from the apartment to the car, or sitting in the outdoor theatre for Candide. Since I got back to the Trap I've been deliciously lazy (and it's been hot hot hot), so I've been spending all my time in air-conditioned interiors. I couldn't possibly have come into contact with poison ivy.

And yet…