About a Bee (or 2)

The fall weather has arrived.

What a relief.

However.  All you summer lovers (and I'm one too), before you feel like smacking me upside the head, I want to make something clear.

The reason for my happiness has little to do with the cooler weather and more to do with surviving the summer nary a bee sting.

6 times last year.

SIX TIMES.


By just two bees.

Not wasps, nor hornets or honey bees.

They were of the fuzzy yellow and black striped ball of sweetness kind.

The la-la-la look at me all cute and soft, perched daintily atop this daisy.

Buzz-buzz-buzz.  La-la-la.

Same difference.

The ones that I was always told by my parents and other well meaning adults 'don't sting.'

BIG.FAT.FUZZY.LIE people!!!


THEY DO!


And I'm living PROOF!!!


There I was with my boys on a warm Saturday afternoon last year.  Innocently hanging out on our front stoop.

Adrian decided he wanted to go call on his friends across the street.

I had to carry Finley as he didn't have his walking feet yet and Adrian of-course had to be carried as well.

He stood on the top step as Finley sat comfortably on my left hip and I scooped him up on my right.

I started across our front lawn and felt an unbelievably sharp needle-like jab on the inside of my upper right thigh.

"Ow!"

Immediately after that first stabbing pain came another.

"AHH! OW!"

I became a bit panicked wondering what-the-eff just happened.

And then I basically dropped my kids to the (grassy) ground like a sack of hot potatoes.

And they laughed.

Well.  More like cackled.

They're a bit evil like that when someone's in pain.

And then.


ANOTHER sharp stabby pain occurring waaay too close to my hoo-ha.


My shrieking became alarming enough that my husband flew from the backyard to the front yard, finding me on the edge of hysteria with our little guy laid out on his back chortling away at his Mother's frantic state and my other guy watching in bewilderment.

My husband comes at me and.

 (I still can't believe he tried to do this.)

Starts to take my pants off.


Of-course all of this is happening way faster than I'm telling it but quite literally he grabbed my belt and whips it off me.

I yelled.  Of-course amidst me screeching in pain I yelled at him.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING!!??"

And then I ran in the house and ripped my own damn pants off.

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Can you imagine looking out your window one beautiful Saturday to see your female neighbour standing pantless in the middle of her lawn?

Mortification.  That's what you would feel.  

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My family followed me in the house and my husband informed me as I sat pantless on a chair with a halved onion on my throbbing parts (quite the ladylike picture there ain't it?) I must've been stung by a bumblebee that somehow found it's way up my pant leg.

It was now dead.

*sigh*  My hero.

I somehow felt no remorse for that dumb@$$ bee that got 'lost' up my pant leg.

About 2 months later I was hanging out with my neighbours with my little one in a sling on my hip.

And this bee.  


Of the cute fuzzy variety AGAIN.


Would. Not. Leave. Me. Alone.

I know why the saying "making a bee line" is what it is.

I was running, dodging, turning, ducking.

There was no fooling this bee.

It had it in for me.


I'm sure it knew... 


I come from a family of bee murderers!


It wanted REVENGE.  


(Quite possibly the bee with the terrible sense of direction was his best bee friend - as mere human's we just never know these things!)


All the while I was ducking, dodging, squealing and running, my little one was (surprise!) killing himself laughing.

And here I was, more concerned about him being stung than me.  Even knowing how bloody painful it is to get stung...I would've taken one or three for my son.

Ungrateful child.

The vengeful, obsessive bee attached itself on my inner forearm of my long sleeve shirt and.

Sting.

STING.

STING! (Right through my shirt!!!)


M&^%$&F&^^%$S!@@!!!!!!


Therein lies the sweet story "About a Bee (or 2)."

(It kinda makes you all warm and fuzzy inside doesn't it?)

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And for those dubious about bumblebees not stinging and/or being (un)able to sting more than once as people kept insisting to me (hellooo?!  I was the victim here!), I did some good old fashioned google research and found this at http://www.bumblebee.org/:


"Bumblebees can sting, at least the queens and workers can, and their sting is not barbed like that of the honeybee, so they can sting more than once."


Believe me when I say this stuff only happens to me.  You'll just have to stay tuned for more...oh there's more.


**If you want to have another laugh at the expense of another's pain visit my friend Ado over at The Momalog**