I hate made-up allergies.

The one that ticked me off the most was from a frequent house guest who would complain that she was allergic to dogs. Hey, guess what lady? I really am allergic to dogs – I can tolerate them only if I’m around them consistently – and if you were your eyes would tear up and you’d start sneezing shortly after you entered the door.

It was karma, not the dog, that eventually bit her, though. She now lives in a house with several pets.

Then there’s that episode of “Sex In The City” where Carrie complains about an allergy to an herb in order to get the waiter to cater to her pickiness. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

There are times, though, when made-up allergies don’t bother me so much. Particularly when they’re made up for a benign reason, such as Big Guy’s best friend’s sudden reaction to metal.

He never wears belts because of the allergy, best friend told Big Guy. The metal on the buckle would break him out. Funny how that allergy never keeps him from playing with Hot Wheels, though.

I had to stifle giggles when Big Guy relayed this. I nodded and said, “Interesting.”

The “metal” allergy comes from a good place, a place in the heart of a sweet child who sees his best friend turn down cookies and candy because he’s allergic. He’s not doing it for attention or to get someone to custom design a menu made up of only things he likes. He’s not doing it because he wants you to rearrange your house when he visits, as the allegedly dog-allergic guest did.

It comes from a kid who wants to say to a pal, “Yes, allergies stink. I know because I have them too.”.

I just don’t see the harm in that.

Copyright 2010 Debra Legg. All rights reserved.

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