“This is perfect!” she beamed, her eyes teary from excitement. “I’ve always dreamt to buy a home just like this.” Nancy, her real estate agent, rubbed her eyes, also teary, and sneezed—three times. “I’m… sorry,” she stammered, with a nasal inflection. “I must… be… allergic to… mold.” She sneezed, her sinuses so stuffy as to render her voice unrecognizable. “Are you… sure, Ms. Jordan? I understand… the fascinations some folks…” She sneezed again and rubbed more, smearing her make-up. “… have with… fixer-uppers. But this… dump must be… the queen… of fixer-uppers…” This time the rubbing threatened to remove a layer of skin off her lids. “Wouldn’t you… want to consult… with your… fiancé first? I… could show the two… of you… some other… properties… maybe.” By now, Nancy’s eyes had turned so red that they seemed to leak blood. “Oh, dear. You really are allergic.”
