Okay.
As I write this sympathy-seeking post, the venom of four demonic bees is coursing through my veins. The last time I was stung by a bee my mother was alive: I was four, standing by our front tree when a little one nailed the back of my innocent leg.
Today, it was a full-out assault.
In my efforts to make the landscaping behind our house less heinous, I was weeding a bed of, well, weeds. I had the presence of mind to wear a pair of leggings (c. 1997) to protect my gams from flying rock, and I was going medieval on the expanse of green crap that grows with gusto. My headphones in, I was in a zen-like manual labor mode when I felt what I first thought was a sharp rock slam into my left ass cheek. When the pain worsened and didn't stop, I realized that it was no pebble. Another sting on my right thigh then my left and things began to feel Biblical.
If you know me, you can imagine what kind of batshit crazy screaming, hopping fit ensued. As I danced like a mental patient on meth and threw down the weed eater and hollered bloody hell, I saw another one attacking my left ankle. It was one last swat and a Herculean jump off that top weed bed to the ground below and a sprint far from the scene of the crime before the noises of abject terror stopped. I stood yards away and saw the swarm of little bastards apparently partying at the defeat of the tall tan girl.
Did my singing offend them? Nah. Surely it was the spinning cord of the vicious weed eater upsetting their little kingdom.
I have nothing against bees. I watched the movie. Jerry Seinfeld's characterization alone convinced me that we couldn't make it without them. Today, though, while my two sizable legs pulsate with the prickly pain that only they can inflict, I'm having a tough time forgiving nature's little blessings.
RIP Fab Four. I hope it was worth it ;).
Are you sure they weren't yellow jackets? I unleashed a swarm while whacking a stick against the back porch. They came after me then landed on the dog who raced inside trying to get them off. This released about six in the house where they terrorized Elena so badly she wouldn't go back in the bathroom (although it was her friend who got stung and not Elena herself!) All this happened right before we were supposed to be at school to pick up schedules and sit at the PTA table. Yeah...good times.
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