And it is getting hot. I always seem to forget how quickly the pleasant May weather (mid 70's, nice ocean breezes) evolves into that back of the leg sweat kind of hot- you know the kind, when your jeans actually start to stick to your legs, or if you're wearing a skirt, the sweat just drips down the back of your legs....
Anyhow, this past weekend I went up to Highland Park to the Oilcloth International sale (next one is in November), and it was just HOT. I was sweating and carrying M around was so warm. It made me remember the weekend last year that I found out I was pregnant with M. I was in Highland Park, visiting my friend and her husband, who had recently found out that they were expecting. She teased me that I was probably preggers too, since I kept sucking down water and peeing constantly. I thought to myself, hmmm. I suppose I could be..., as I stood in their kitchen with sweat dripping down my legs and soaking the heels of my cork espadrilles.
So, the sale was relatively successful, though I thought the selection wasn't as good as last years'. I still managed to part with a few dollars.
The interesting part, though, was that as I was walking from the porch of my friends' bungalow into their living room, I got stung by a bee. Now, I suppose the more outdoorsy stypes are totally unimpressed by this, but I have somehow made it to my late twenties without being stung by anything. I felt like maybe my diaper bag's corner was stabbing me in the arm, so I looked down and there was a BEE on my arm. I have a serious phobia about flying inspects in general, although honey bees have actually never been on the list before. I was holding M in her carseat, so I finally managed to flick it off of my arm and get into the house. I closed the door, and asked my friends- what do you do to get the stinger out? I was never a girl scout, and I have never earned any sort of outdoorsy knowledge contest. I Google, therefore I am. I just know how to look things up online- so when I have no laptop in front of me, I become basically an idiot. I called R at work and asked him, since my friends didn't seem too sure. R was a boy scout, so he probably had earned a badge for something like this in his childhood. He told me it didn't matter how you get the stinger out- just to do it fast. I borrowed a pair of tweezers and pulled it out, then cleaned it with an alcohol swab. I watched it for an hour to see if I developed any kind of crazy reaction (just a dime sized welt and a red splotch on my arm around the area) and put on a Strawberry Shortcake bandaid on it.
I mean, I am running up on thirty- doesn't it seem possible that I should have been stung earlier- like when I was a kid running around playground in the spring time? Barefoot, for crying out loud? Not just walking into the house! That just seems lame.
Writing this down makes me somehow remember when I was in fourth grade, our house became home to a colony (is that the right word?) of carpenter bees. They made a nest (hive?) in the corner of our roof that met at an angle, and my mom had to pay some guy to trap them inside with a metal mesh thing. The trouble came when they found their way out through our attic into the only was out they could find- the small crack between the top of our kitchen ceiling fan and the actual ceiling. My friend, S, who I've mentioned just caught up with me via Google, and I were sitting at the kitchen table doing something together when a half dead carpenter bee fell onto the middle of table, writhing with I am sure the agony of being halfway torn apart in the act of pushing through the crack. It was completely terrifying. We screamed and ran, and I suspect my grandmother must have been the one to seal up the ceiling and dispose of the bee, because I don't remember anything else happening...
Odd, then, that my phobia of flying insects is restricted to moths, butterflies (they are really just fancy-colored moths), and grasshoppers. Yuck. Even typing the g-word gives me the willies.
Well, I have to run and get things done before M wakes up. I should probably peel off my Strawberry Shortcake bandaid and get moving.
1 comment:
I remember those carpenter bees! That was sooo icky and creepy! I still talk about it sometimes. I think it permanently scarred me. Maybe I should have sued the bees? Don't be embarrassed by the G-thing, (I remember why you're creeped by them too)mine's worse. CRICKETS. Yup, I am terrified of crickets. I didn't used to be, but *shudder* giant, smelly, cannibalistic field crickets... Really just the thought makes my skin crawl. Someday I'll have to tell you all about the crickets.
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