Think about fall. Think about all the things you love about it; I’m sure there’s a lot. I bet pumpkin pie is on the list. I bet apple pie is too. I bet Pumpkin Spice Lattes and hot apple cider and the holiday aisle at Michael’s make that list too.
Now imagine breaking out in hives every time you so much as sniffed those scents. Imagine a tingle in the back of your throat and the immediate itchiness that overwhelms you as you decide to taste those pumpkin munchkins your roommate brought home from Dunkin Donuts.
When I was twelve years old, I took a sip of a chai latte and that’s when I knew—I was (and still am) horribly allergic to cinnamon and nutmeg. This may not seem like a big deal, but to someone like me—an autumn enthusiast since age six—this was earth-shattering news. Bad things happen all the time, and I could deal with most of them, but the news that my favorite season could potentially one day kill me was not one of those things.
I’m sure you, a reader without a cinnamon and nutmeg allergy, have never realized just how many fall delicacies incorporate these two spices into their recipes. Let me tell you—it’s a lot more than you think. This year especially, I’ve noticed an increasingly amount of food companies producing pumpkin flavored items—and any good pumpkin flavored item is nearly always laden with nutmeg.
It’s a hard way to live, constantly on the lookout for the deadly combination of spices, especially with this newfound pumpkin-flavored fad. I’ve seen pumpkin infused in the weirdest of things, and frankly, it scares me. I fear for my life. I’ve resorted to openly telling everyone I come into contact with of my allergy, because since it’s now mainstream to have pumpkin flavored lasagna, I can never be too safe.
Walking into a Michael’s or an A.C. Moore is my own private definition of hell. It’s a very conflicting feeling—I’m instantly attracted to all the different fall decorations but merely walking past them sends me in an itchy, puffy rage. My heart rate speeds up, a heat creeps up the back of my neck and my chest and face become instantly blotchy—all from the smell. Just imagine what would happen if I ingested that. Actually, don’t.
I’m slowly coming to terms with my condition; it’s really, really hard to accept. Cinnamon and nutmeg, my two archenemies, are infused within the season I love the most, and each day they remind me of all the little ways I can’t partake in seasonal activities. They carry a pungent, dominating aroma that laughs mercilessly at my despair.
Perhaps I’m being dramatic, but if the barista at Starbucks looked at you like you had two heads because you asked for the Caramel Apple Spice without the spice, you’d be dramatic too. I didn’t choose the anti-autumn life. The anti-autumn life chose me.
