We were playing in the sprinkler one day, and my delicate little girl foot landed squarely on a pissed off insect of the stinging variety. I don't remember pain - just being startled. When people realizd what had happened and the worry and sympathy began rolling my way, I immediately proceeded to cry, as was expected, but I don't remember it actually hurting.

In the past two months I've been stung twice. Once at my friends pool this summer, and once this very night, while I was innocently changing into my pajamas in my bedroom. There was a buzzing disturbance by my head and suddenly, Zap! I felt a sharp pain on my back. That was over an hour ago and it still hurts like a bitch. I found the little fucker and I'm pretty sure it was Africanized, so this may very well be my last post because tomorrow I will likely wake up dead, in which case, it's been fun and see ya on the flip side (what the hell does that mean?).
Once found, I murdered said little fucker violently and thoroughly and flushed him into oblivion (see YOU on the flip side, little fucker!). I was living amicably amongst the bees. I allowed a few indiscretions on their part (they have their basic nature to contend with after all), but I've had enough. This is war. Death to bees!
1 comment:
You're funny. I'm sure you'll survive, in any case.
Burkean Reflections
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