Minding My Own Beeswax

I think the last time it happened was when I was nine years old. It's a vague memory, but a painful one. And it finally happened again. I got stung!

Yesterday, I was standing out at the end of our driveway, supervising Bruce as he worked on one of our many projects. Annoying, buzzing critters were flying all over the place, but I was playing it fairly cool. Hey, I'm a country girl now. I can deal.

I was wearing my cool new striped overalls and straw hat. Maybe that's why I got stung. I offended the Insect Fashion Police.

So there I was, minding my own beeswax, when I felt a little tickle on my right calf. Inside my pant leg. Immediately, I knew I was in trouble. Then the sting. Ouch! I wapped at my pant leg and then rolled it up to see smished insect guts and a stinger hanging out of my leg. I think it was a yellow jacket, but I didn't bother to look around on the ground for the rest of the carcass. Bruce carefully took the stinger out and proclaimed that it hadn't gone in too far and the poison sack had not been emptied. Goodie.

As I limped back to the house to take an antihistamine and put ice on the wound, I thought that it was a good thing that I finally got stung again. It's been one of my fears over these last many years, so now it's finally been done and I know how it feels. Then it started hurting. Really hurting. And it wouldn't stop. For hours and hours. And this is with the poison not being released and the stinger not going in all the way!

So then I started devising a plan to make myself sting-proof. Tucking my pant legs into my socks, wearing a long sleeve shirt with the lapels up and the sleeves tucked into gloves. And, of course, the headnet. I am going to look awesome! You know, I think I would look really cute in a complete beekeeper's outfit. Or maybe a space suit. Armor?