When I was a toddler my sister and I had a baby pool on the patio in the summer. It had about an inch of water in it but we would splash around for the afternoon. One day my sister convinced me to step on a bee--she told me it was just like a fly.
I am sure we all know how that turned out.
I had a meltdown and a freak out as you can imagine. And I cannot even tell you how that bee sting felt. I remember it as a searing pain not unlike having your foot cut off with a steak knife.
When I was about seven my mother left my dad in charge of us for an afternoon. I was climbing a fence in the neighbors' yard when I put my hand throw a wasps' nest. Fourteen stings in my hand, arm and face. With a black eye. Scrubbed clean by my daddy who was not gentle about it like my mom would be. I remember that feeling like a cheese grater ripping off my skin layer by layer.
These two events have left me an almost pathological avoidance of bees and wasps and yellowjackets. I have no desire to feel their stings ever again.
Today I went tanning. And when I was getting dressed when I felt a sharp pain on my leg. I pulled up my pant leg and saw a small red welt. And then another, even sharper pain high on my thigh. I checked that too and then noticed the remains of two bees on the carpet.
I had put on my pants with two fucking bees inside of them.
The rest of my afternoon involves a rotary fan, the Cubs' game, an ice pack and a large tube of Benedryl.
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