i know no one who likes bees. i get that.
some might love their honey; most avoid them for their pointy rear-ends. but very few casually say,
“oh how nice . . . a bee on my knee! stay a while, stingy friend.”
yesterday, as i dodged golf-ball sized bumbles to make my way to our basement laundry room, i realized my fear and anxiety around these little pollinators may in fact reach a higher level than the average bear.
while i’m not allergic to bees, i have self-diagnosed Apiphobia and a few funny stories to show for it, or perhaps to blame for it.
Abby vs. the Bee, Round One.
july/august 1994 (maybe?)
enter abby, eight-ish, adorable, ignorant to the evils of the bee.
all set to help grandpa and the gang bail some hay, she secured a spot in the loft of the barn.probably being less than helpful, she jumped from bail to bail in her oversized apple sweatshirt, loving life and all its painless pleasures.
enter bee, hybrid-mutant-evil bee, with eight stingers and a penchant for young blood.
bee finds way into sweatshirt, bee stings, bites, mutilates abby’s arm at least eight times, bee sends abby into hysteria, vomiting, and lifelong phobia.
bee meets maker and is preserved in tic-tac canister for future family museum.
Abby vs. the Bee, Round Two.
august 2008 (definitely.)
fast forward a baker’s dozen of summers and move your eye northeast to whistler, canada.
enter newleywed abby on a honeymoon hike, precisely halfway through the local’s route (read: long and hard) and stopping for a breather and some snacks.
and a photo opp.
perhaps she was pushing it with this one.
but the flowers were beautiful, the moment was right, and the pedicured toes peaked proudly from her sandals.
she had it comin’.
enter canadian bee, probably on a dare from his little bee friends. bee goes straight for the sandals and manages to make contact with the bottom of abby’s foot.
queue dramatics. tears. mentions of “i might be allergic.” realization that there is no one for miles and someone is not going to carry abby the remaining miles/hours home.
she eventually recovers, quite gracefully one might say, and manages to limp onward to a happy honeymoon and the truth that in fact, she’s not allergic, just terrified.
you can see why i’m not eager to enter into round 3 of this epic battle.
so the question remains:
which came first, the bee or the berserk?
only time will tell. i’m now suiting up to face my fears and change the laundry load.
i will not be defeated by another buzzing bully.
i was prompted to write these stories of woe for a little contest over at 5minutesformoms. click on over to read others’ funny run-ins with the peskiest among us!