Remember those big black bees flying around in the trees by my house? They’re everywhere. It must be spring or something.
A few days ago I was at the pool. Trying to finish up a terrible Jane Austen book. Northanger Abbey. Have you read it? Don’t. Normally, I’m a Jane Austen fan. I nearly consumed Persuasion. But this book? Meh. Good writing. Terribly boring plot.
Anyway.
I decided to take a literary break. Closed my eyes. Felt the heat of the sun. Relaxed. I didn’t move for a few minutes. Nearly drifted off. And then I heard it.
Buzzing. Loud buzzing.
And before I could even open my eyes, the bee came barreling through the air, aimed, and hit me smack in the boob. The boob! I jumped clear out of my pool chair, frisking myself in search of the inappropriate bee. My eyes were wide as I waved my arms in circles to make sure I didn’t actually touch it.
And this was all in front of my swimming neighbors. Blushing may have ensued.
Then yesterday morning I was walking to church. On the way, there’s this wall of flowery bushes. Flowery bushes that attract bees. I was staring at the ground, thinking about nothing, and then I heard the buzzing. The bee flew out in front of me and hit me in the chest. The chest! (What’s with these bees?) I jumped and tried to wave it away. Which worked, but the bee started circling in front of me. Right where I needed to walk. I waved my other arm. It circled. I waved again. And when the bee wouldn’t get out of my face, I waved both arms in rapid succession with my eyes closed.
All in front of my jogging neighbors. And 20 cars passing by. I kept my head down and walked on.
And I know I look like an idiot when I freak out. I mean, I’m a strapping viking, and I can’t handle a bug? Please. But I just can’t help it. I have good reason. I do.
One time in college I stepped on a dead bee and my foot swelled up and got infected and I got a fever and I was out of school for a week. And when it got worse, the doctor decided he needed to cut into my toe to release the pressure but he shot the local anesthetic in the wrong place and numbed my ankle instead of my toe. And then he shoved a scalpel into my flesh and I screamed and it was a bloody, painful mess. I still have the scar.
All because of a dead bee.
So the live ones? No. Not for me.
Oh that’s horrible! I stepped on a bee once too, and my uncle had to dig out the stinger. I was about 10 years old. Needless to say I was horrified.
I”ve heard guys think about nothing as they’re walking along, but I didn’t think that was true for girls.
May I recommend a badmiton racket? Distance, plus you can practice you backhand swing.
i don’t recall this missing a weeks worth of school bit… but i surely remember the stepped on bee. seems the story has grown along with time…
No exaggeration. Don’t you remember I nearly passed out at the David Crowder concert? And that security guy had to drive me home from class on the little golf cart? I got a doctors note and stayed on the futon for the rest of the week.
I want the names of both those bees!