Tuesday, September 7, 2010

Attack of the Death Swarm

Driving home I was surrounded by storms. I love storms. This is why Chance smells of storms. Lightning, power, life and that lovely wet smell. Beautiful.

I think that is why I was hit so unsuspecting by the attack…

I got home to find my house smelled like death. Or at the very least something rotten this way comes. So in search of rottenness I went… I traced the smell to my garbage can, which, since the garbage went out yesterday, looked like a clean, innocent bag.

That is, until you lifted out the shining white bag to find the pile of rotting food and Dorito’s bags the kids had hidden under the bag. Okay. Evil scent detected. Trash out the door. Time to scrub out the can. Don’t you wish everything, like your laundry, was made like Rubbermaid?

Filling it with bleach and scrubbing seemed the logical course of action. Also, a hose seemed a logical rinsing device…

When I grabbed up the hose and began to rinse, nothing seemed awry.

The burning fire in my shoulder quickly alerted me that I was horribly, stupidly wrong.

I glanced down to see the omen of death trying desperately to kill me. It’s yellow and black body was firmly embedded in my black and white work blouse and I started shrieking and dancing around the yard like a loon. My landlord and longtime friend later said he thought for a moment I was going to rip my shirt off and start dancing on it.

Still, the evil little whoremonger clung, stinging like crazy.

By the way, allergic to bees. Not my favorite critter. I get the whole we-need-them-to-pollinate jive. I also get that there has got to be a better way than evil stinging suicidal death bringing bugs. It is 2010. Come on.

Finally, my buddy got the evil little wretch off me and I flew into the house to guzzle Benadryl and pop a claritin. I am a firm believer in not dying. I also coated my arm in baking soda and water paste. Draw the infection out and pray for the healing powers of antihistamine.

Ripping off my clothes, I considered crisis averted and went outside to finish the can. More storms had rolled in and were making the world all lovely…

I came back in when my arm was burning to make more paste for my arm. When dribbling it on to the two (yes, either there was more than one or he was particularly evil…) another bee began to attack.


I started screaming again and ripped my tank top away from my body. Shoving the thing under the facet, I watched as he madly stung the tanktop. Luckily, the tanktop was not in contact with my body so it was less effective than the first attack.

My son came and shoved the stupid suicidal insect down the drain with a Croc. “Mom, are you going to die?”

At this rate???

I smiled, warmly, and told him I was fine. I then tried to determine where Bee #3 had come from. My clothes? I quickly stripped. My hair. I shoved my head under a water facet.

I then decided I no longer care if we are able to dispose of garbage ever again. I hope my house reeks. I am not getting that stupid garbage can. It can sit in the rain. I am not going outside again…


This could be great for the writing career. Hermits have plenty of time to write.

However, it may eventually change the way I smell…

Stuck in a house… please send chocolate.

*hums happy birthday sadly*

Yours, stingingly,

1 comment:

  1. I would've totally freaked out and I'm not allergic! When I was a wee lassie, I felt an itch on my head and when I went to itch it, I really pissed off the hornet in my hair and got stung a few times on top of my head. I still remember how much it hurt.

    It should be safe to go outside again in December. Until then, hang in there. :o)