Then I went to bed.
And I discovered that you can spend an entire night playing Whack-A-Mole with your own skin.
Every 30 minutes or so one little patch of hives would randomly surface on my body and wake me up with intense itching. I'd wake up, scratch a bit, it would subside, I doze off. Half an hour later, repeat scenario in a different area.
I have not been a perky camper today, let's say. But when I woke up, there were only a few scattered clusters of small hives around the edges of my back, which was a VAST improvement, so I was a lot happier. They mostly faded out over the course of the day, leaving only a few stragglers in a flare across my lower back (the allergen tramp stamp, woo). I smugly commented to J. in email that I had them licked. They apparently overheard me and lurked until I got home.
Hives: We're faaaaading! Faaaaading! What a worrrrrld...
Hives: What a worrrrrr- BOOB STRIKE! BANZAI!
Me: AIGH WTF!
So I'm glaring into the mirror, weighing the bonus of hey, my cleavage is 2" larger vs. it looks like I ripped the tits off a leprous zombie, when I notice another itching.
Back of left knee: HEY GUYS? GUYYYYYS! ISN'T THIS THE MEETUP POINT? WHERE IS EVERYONE?!
Me: Oh great, I have Skippy the Retard Hive.
It's just been that kind of day. So if you come out to CAPE! tomorrow and I'm madly scratching and/or laughing like a sleep-deprived lunatic, now at least you have context.