Allergic to Happiness

In the middle of making us lunch earlier, Will had to take over so I could sit down.

I pressed my palm to my forehead and exhaled dramatically.  "I'm getting a migraine."  I looked out the window at our back yard.  A turtle dove was walking along our back step.  The sun had melted most of the snow away from our yard.

"Of course," I continued to complain.  "The sun is shining and it's warm.  It's a beautiful day today--but nope, not for me.  I've got a storm a'brewin in my head.  I think I'm allergic to the world."

Will looked up from the stove, smiled at me, and said, "I think you're allergic to happiness."

I laughed even though it made my head pound harder.

"That could be," I said, nodding my head toward the window.  "It's like nature is saying to me, this kind of weather makes most people happy, but not you!  What makes most people happy makes you miserable."

"Yep, pretty much," Will smiled and looked back at the stove.