Thursday 25 July 2013

Bees and Wasps

A friend of mine was clearing things up around her shed today and when she lifted up “something”, she found herself in the middle of a swarm of bees. Like any sane being, she ran screaming into the house in terror and pain. Unfortunately, the bees were flying angry just as fast as she was running scared and they not only followed her into the house, but found a way under her skirt. I’m in pain just thinking about it. She was stung nine times and she is feeling somewhat better after several hours of Benadryl, ice packs, Afterbite and a bath. I suggested alcohol both internally and externally. Couldn’t hurt.
Don’t bees know that generally we don’t want to hurt them? Sure, we steal their food that they store for their young and I guess we take the nurseries they make for the babies and make candles out of them. We make them live in boxes and then steal pretty much everything by using smoke to stupefy them. Maybe we do deserve to get stung, we are pretty much bastards.

I can remember the first time I was stung. It was by a dead bee. I know the bee was dead, because I was the one that killed it. It was sucking on some clover flower and I stomped it many times for no good reason at all other than the fact that I was big and it was small. When it was well and truly dead, I got all scientific and decided to study it. I picked it up using my thumb and forefinger, and drove the dead bee’s stinger into the ball of my thumb. Boy that hurt! I did learn never to pick up a bee and I haven’t in the 50 years or so since then.

I remember being with Louise when we were young and in love at some water park. I decided then and there that I was going to quit smoking and tossed my pack of cigarettes into the big garbage can. We walked along hand in hand, her being proud of me for quitting and me feeling really good about the decision. Just about fifteen minutes later, Louise went to the bathroom and I went back to the garbage can. There must have been fifty wasps hovering around the can, but I stuck my upper torso in and rooted around the garbage until I found my smokes. I guess wasps can appreciate how hard it is to kick an addiction and didn’t sting me. Louise was less than proud of me after she found out.
I was stung a few times by wasps while I was delivering mail, usually in late August and early September. The wasps seem to get really angry at that time of year. It might be because that’s about the time they find out that even though they busted their asses working all summer, now all that’s left for them to do is die. Sucks to be a wasp, and to tell the truth I’d bite anything that came near me too. Maybe that’s the same reason that old men are such angry drivers.

The last time that I was bitten by a wasp, it was quite memorable for me. I was drinking coffee in the lunch room with a couple of guys after work and all of a sudden I felt something crawling up my leg under my shorts. I knew there shouldn’t be anything crawling on my upper thigh, and when I tried to check it out, there was a pain like a hot knife stabbing into me. I jumped up and down screaming, and when the wasp finally fell out; I jumped on it until it wasn’t an it any more. I’m just glad it didn’t crawl any higher. My friend Jodi was there and to this day, whenever she looks at me, she starts to laugh. I know why she’s laughing and I try to ignore her, but she will tell anyone and everyone that’s around the story of Ken getting bit in the thigh while I was drinking coffee. It’s not that funny!...Really!

I hope that Carol is feeling much better tomorrow, and I hope that I never get another bite. I don’t think I can stand the pain or the humiliation.

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