Please don’t go into anaphylactic shock near me. Sure, I’m the type to remain calm, keep a level head in the face of an emergency. Sure, I’d remember to call 911 and I’m fairly certain that I’d remember to not freak the freak out and I’m almost positive I wouldn’t faint from the stress.
But please, just pick someone else to stand next to when you step on a bee or lick a peanut. Because, seriously, I’m going to take that EpiPen, haul back and hit you right in the leg with the pen completely backwards, my thumb over the needle. And when I’m pumped full of adrenaline, running laps around the soccer field instead of performing emergency CPR while your throat closes up, my heart racing close to the point of bursting, the paramedics will then have two patients instead of one.
And I have it on good authority that I will henceforth be known as The Dumb Ass by all emergency service providers. And that’s the kind of irony I won’t find funny. So let’s just avoid this whole embarrassing scenerio, ‘m kay? You stand over there, I’ll stand over here, and we’ll both be better off.
Clearly, EpiPen and I are NOT friends.