Over this past 4th of July holiday weekend, I was minding my own beeswax - pun TOTALLY intended – drinking a cup of coffee while sitting on our front porch.
Enter Mr. Bee.
This little bugger kept buzzing all around me and got much too close for comfort, so against my better judgment, I swatted at him when I realized he had no intention of leaving my area. This is MY porch, Mr. Bee!
As you can imagine, he was having none of it. My swatting had no effect. Go figure. I had to evacuate the premises.
Upon leaving my comfy Adirondack chair (that Eric built for us…what a little handy woodworker he is!), I noticed Mr. Bee went directly to a specific spot on the chair in between two slats of wood and didn’t emerge from that spot for longer than I would’ve expected. You know, because I’m such an expert on knowing the habits of bees and all.
Well, given my innate nosiness…err, I mean curiosity, I went to peep the scene.
I couldn’t believe it. Directly below where my left leg had just been relaxing to the max was a small beehive bee-ing (haha) built! Eric, who was also sitting on the porch next to me in his own chair, just HAD to know about this.
As I’m telling him what I just discovered, I thought it would be cool to also SHOW him by flipping over the chair.
Uh oh. Bad Anne. NOT A GOOD IDEA.
As I’m flipping over the chair for show-and-tell hour at the Stefl Household, I spot at least two bees, and they are not pleased I’m literally turning their world upside down. One of them makes a beeline (haha, this never gets old) for my left foot and stings my big toe. Lovely.
For Pete’s sake. I haven’t had a bee sting since my very first one when I was 7 years old!
Now, who knows if my earlier swatting at the bee is what caused him to retaliate with such ruthless maliciousness or if he would’ve came after me anyway, but I’m guessing it probably didn’t help. Oops. (And for the record, Eric did make a comment while I was doing the aforementioned swatting and noted it might not be the best idea, but that clearly didn’t stop me. Dang it.)
Needless to say, getting stung at 8 and ½ months pregnant didn’t make me happy. Poor Eric. I think it’s fair to say I’ve held it together emotionally for just about all of my pregnancy, but that little bee sting really did not sit well with me. I’m not gonna lie…a few tears were shed. And then I also poured one for my homies that have passed. Okay, so maybe that last part didn’t happen.
On this week’s to-do list? Stop at the hardware store for some beehive killer spray. And no, I will NOT be the one spraying the hive. Good luck with that, Eric. :)
~as
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