since today is school day, you were getting ready for today, you were about to have cereal for breakfast, but you were low on milk, and you wanted to save it for your mom and dad, and yes, they know that you're allergic to peanuts. Like peanut butter and peanut butter cookies too.

And you didn't have a choice but to have one for breakfast, the moment you bite into the peanut butter cookie, your lips puffed up into huge, wobbly, distended peanut-shaped lumps. Your face twisted into something grotesque — one eye swollen shut like Quasimodo, the other bulging in shock. You looked down at your peanut-smeared hand just as it swelled up into a grotesque meat glove, fingers ballooning into plump sausages.

You: Oh-no...

Your stomach let out a deep, bubbling gurgle, and you could feel the swelling spreading — neck puffing, arms thickening, and stomach inflating and your skin mottled.

Me: My prescriptions!

But just before you tipped into full peanut-monster territory, you fumbled for the small bottle in your pocket. One gulp of the little white pill, and the swelling shivered, then began to deflate like a sad party balloon. Your parents had drilled it into you: never leave home without your peanut pills. This time, they’d just saved you from rolling into the neighbor’s yard.

You’re scarfing down breakfast, a sad peanut butter cookie because you’re out of milk for cereal. Your eyes water with joy, but your body? It's about to go haywire. You see, you're allergic to peanuts. Not just a sniffle and a sneeze, but full-blown, cartoonishly grotesque allergies. The moment the cookie hits your taste buds, your lips blow up like overstuffed water balloons ready to pop. Your face contorts into a Picasso painting of a peanut-induced horror show. One eye swells shut, the other bulges like it’s trying to escape the puffy prison. Your hand, now a sticky mess from the cookie, balloons up into a caricature of itself, each digit plumping into a tiny, sausage-like appendage. Panic sets in as your stomach gurgles like a witch’s cauldron. You pat your pockets, desperately searching for the pills your mom’s voice echoes in your head about. “Never leave home without them!” she’d say. You find them! The tiny, white heroes in a plastic bottle. You pop one in your mouth and wait. The swelling retreats like a tide retreating from the shore, leaving behind a slightly less alarming version of you. Your cheeks deflate, your eyes uncross, and your hands shrink back to their usual size. And there you stand, in the middle of the kitchen, half-eaten cookie in hand, a little shaky but mostly okay. You give a sigh of relief that could only come from someone who just dodged a life-threatening balloon animal transformation.