Stupid bee

We’ve already established that I was an indoorsy, bookish sort of child. I didn’t play outside any more than was absolutely required by my keepers. Thus I never had to deal much with bee stings and the like. In fact, tonight’s was maybe my second or third ever.

It happened as I was changing the lightbulb in the porch light. Just as I pulled off the cover, I felt the intense pain. It took a second to sink in and then I yelled “shit” really loudly so all the neighbors could hear. After that, I ran into the house and grabbed the iPad to Google what the fuck I was supposed to do–which provided surprisingly inaccurate results, several of which just led to the Target Pharmacy website.

Anyhow, I determined that there seemed to be no stinger to remove (which is good since I had no idea how the hell I was supposed to remove it) and I took an illicit Ibuprofen and a Benadryl. Eventually the spot cooled down, and the pain was gone after a few minutes. My left hand feels a little sensitive still, though.

The point behind all this is that the Internet has probably been the salvation of many a helpless, clueless geek such as myself in similarly ridiculous and basically nonthreatening situations. The other point is that I still hate the great outdoors and always will, and I’m increasingly anxious for the day that I will no longer have even so small a piece of it as a yard.

One thought on “Stupid bee

  1. I love the outdoors yet I generally hate yards. Yards create the need for yard work, and I’d rather be enjoying myself somewhere truly wild than be compelled by circumstances to waste a weekend beating a personal postage-stamp of land into submission. When I had a yard of my own, I couldn’t believe how much of my time it sucked up, yet I *still* had the crummiest-looking yard on the block.

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