Never Been Stung

So you’re wondering what the deal is with me and bees, right? You’re wondering why I was wandering around my apartment for two hours in the 80-90 degree heat in my winter coat. You’re wondering why my arm was convulsing to the point where I couldn’t even hold the can of Raid steady. I know you’re wondering all of this because people always wonder. They wonder how anyone could be so terrified. My wife wonders. I think the only person who may not wonder is JonMartin, who I think might be more afraid than me, if I remember correctly. I know you’re wondering, so I’ll tell you.

Our apartment is on the third floor and there is a sliding glass door that might very well lead out to a porch, if there was one. Beyond that there is a screen door, which apparently doesn’t shut all the way. It’s been very hot here the last couple of days and Stef and I left the sliding glass door open last night. About forty minutes after Stef left for work, while I was watching a TV show on baby deliveries on The Learning Channel, a wasp (or a hornet… I can never tell the difference… there all evil to me) wandered into our apartment through the crack in the screen door.

Panic ensued.

At age 24, I have never been stung by a bee, wasp, or any other stinging insect, unless you count ex-girlfriends. I am terrified of them. Even harmless honeybees put the fear of God into me. If one gets too close to me I run like the wind for the nearest enclosed space, whether it be a car with no air conditioning in the blistering August heat, or a house that no one else is in because they’re all out barbequeing like nothing’s the matter.

But I couldn’t run this time.

Usually there’s someone else around to take care of it. Stephanie, she’s afraid of spiders. So when there are spiders about, I kill them. When there are bees about, Stef does the deed. Today there was no one, no one but me.

There was no Raid in the house. I was afraid to leave to go down to CVS around the corner because I had no idea where the thing would be when I got back. I stared it down for an hour as it sat in one place for ten minutes, bounced around for a few moments, and then sat in another place for ten more. Then I finally called someone, my Dad, who told me not to be an idiot, and to go down and get some Raid. I did that, came back, and sprayed that motherfucker dead.

But I hated doing it.

Even though the things scare the bejesus out of me, I never want to kill them. I tried to get it out through the screen door until I realized there were a half-dozen of his buddies waiting to join him inside if I did. I tried to shoo him out through the door out into the apartment building hallway so that someone else could deal with him. Nothing worked.

I tried to kill him with my shoe, hit him as hard as I could, and the thing got back up and flew around like I’d done nothing.

So I finally got the Raid and did him in and I nervously slid the carcas into a Shop & Save plastic bag and brought him out to the dumpster, careful to avoid his comrades.

The rest of my day consisted of calming the fuck down and trying to get shit done. Eventually, after a shower and some lunch, I did feel better, but whenever I returned to the living room I smelt the remnants of the spray and it made me nauseous.

I got through it though and got all my shit done today and then Stef and I dropped off my car at the shop and watched MTV’s Icon special, a tribute to my favorite band, Aerosmith.

And now I’m gonna go roam the net for a minute to change the subject in my mind so I don’t have horrible nightmares.