Monday, July 13, 2009

Not the bee's knees

I spectacularly introduced myself to the very nice lifeguards at our local lake this afternoon. My eldest was swimming. My two youngest were playing in the sand. I was stepping towards the youngest when I felt a sharp prick and then pain, pain, and more pain. Did I step on a thorn? I turned my foot up to check and found a fuzzy squirming bee attached to my sole.


Can I say that bee stings hurt? And it really hurts on the sole of one's foot? I was trying to downplay my reaction, but lifeguards came running (one kindly pulled the stinger out of my foot because...despite doing some yoga...I'm no longer as limber as I once was and couldn't do it myself). I gingerly hobbled to a seat, and the lifeguards rinsed the sand off my foot and put some sort of anti-sting wipe on the sting. People were staring. Not really the way I'd like to introduce myself to the folks of the town. Hi. Yes, I'm the fool who stepped on a bee. That's me. Perhaps I could reframe the situation. I saved children from stepping on a bee. Fell on the sword. That's me.

Luckily, my husband had taken the day off to run some errands so he could swing quickly by to pick up the children and bring me my crutches. And so I sit, foot elevated and sore, feeling like a complete fool.

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