POLLEN MURRAY REPORTING FOR DUTY...

I spent the first forty five years of my life quite perfectly adapted to the environment in which I lived.
What happened to suddenly make me incompatible with the planet?
When did Gaia arbitrarily decide that I was no longer going to just breathe normally without being subjected to itching nostrils, sore eyes and the manifestation of Niagaran volumes of snot from a seemingly endless source - enough to glue wallpaper from here to Timbuktu?
What did I do wrong to be rejected so callously by my planetary mother?
It was like somebody flicked a switch. One day it was all hunky dory and the next I was a raving, mucous-riddled ratbag. No gradual easing into this bitch. No little exploratory pollen-induced sneezing sessions just to warm me up - nope - I just went full slant-eyed, double-barrelled snotgun.
And it was the same for Karen. Decades of harmonious existence with the plants of the world then one day - boom! Have some of this hay fever, bitch!
I mean, what the fuck!
The only thing I can come up with is that it's revenge, vigilantism on the part of the plants that I, as a vegan, am not consuming.
"Hey, that sonofabitch is dedicatedly eating our veggie brethren, it's time we fucking showed him that that kind of irresponsible behaviour comes at a price. Bottlebrush, give him a dose of your finest and then you slinky little grasses, hit him with the next salvo. Then, just when he's taking some form of medication to ward you off, we'll come up with a covert combination cocktail that their chemists haven't even heard of. Ready?"
Well here's the thing - I'm not going to say fuck you, Gaia nor am I going to cease and desist from my wanton consumption of plant matter by way of sustenance. If you are what you eat then I should be the most compatible planetary plantman going. Not so. Just have to keep trying...
Although admittedly, once the pollen pulverising ensues, I do kinda devolve to a semi-vegetative state so perhaps my transmogrification into the Swamp Thing is progressing as planned. 
And as if that wasn't the strangest part of it all, the plants conspire to occasionally release me from this torment while directing their assault on my wife and as soon as she emerges snot-free from a three-day bout of this, I plunge back into the pollen purgatory while she looks on agog.
It is spectacularly bizarre.
The season has, however, almost run its course this year and soon we will be the merry, skipping free-breathing kids we once were for another eight months or so before the cycle resumes...
Achoo.
Namaste, mothersuckers.