Oh yeah, so, the wasps. On Wednesday afternoon, I was standing next to Stephen as he rooted around in the trunk of his car, looking for his toolkit. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a large bug buzzing by, then felt a sharp pain in my arm. I started shouting that a horsefly had bitten me (I don't know why I thought it was a horsefly, I guess because it looked so big and black in my peripheral vision?) and tried to both crouch and run away. Stephen started to correct me-- "Actually, it's a wasp" --then he got stung, too. Wow, killer wasp--two stings in less than five seconds.
On further (cautious) inspection, we discovered a nest in one of the vents on his car. In the few weeks that the car has sat idly in his parents' driveway (grounded until it passes state inspection), the little buggers have made a nice home for themselves there.
I've long been known as a Friend of the Stinging Insect in my family. When my mom or sister would find a bee in the house, I'd calmly scoop the thing up in a paper cup and let it go outside. I never let them smoosh it. But something about the double-stinging on Wednesday really teed me off, so I was perfectly satisfied to see Stephen take the garden hose to that nest. From a safe distance, of course.
I think it's always been easy for me to feel kindly toward bees and wasps because I've so rarely been stung--only twice that I can remember. The last time it happened was the week before I started second grade. I was playing outside with some friends, and I accidentally got too close to a nest of bees. When they started to swarm, I tried to shield my face with my hands. Somehow, in so doing, I caught a bee and trapped it between my hands and face, and it stung me on the eyelid. Seriously, ow.
I remember the babysitter putting some kind of paste on my face--I think it was baking soda and water?--that was meant to draw the stinger out. And I remember starting the school year a few days later, wondering what the other kids would think of me with my big swollen eyelid. I recall looking in the mirror and thinking, "They'll probably call me Pumpkinface."
But no one made fun of me; I don't think there was much reaction at all, in fact. I guess bee stings and grass stains and sunburns were just all mundane facts of the post-summer second grade world.
