Bird Shit & Bee
Stings (08-08-06)
Subtitle: Why I don't go outside.
I am not an outdoorsy person. Even people who barely know me, know this. I am a house cat. I like the comforts of home. I like my computer, my electric lights, hot water, and, of course, air conditioning. If I could, I would build a shrine to my A/C and worship it daily.
I do not like bugs, dirt, sweat, or sleeping in uncomfortable places. Yes, I am a rather spoiled and high-maintenance Leonard, but at least I can admit that. And admitting it is half the battle. Therefore, I do not go outside if I can help it. I don't do "outside things." However, only 50% of this is because I don't like it. The other 50% (okay, maybe it's more like 60/40) is because if I know I won't have a good time, I don't want to ruin other people's good times by whining and complaining and being an all around pain in the ass. Let's just save ourselves the trouble and not make Leonard go outside to begin with. At least that's my logic.
I have always been this way. My mother swears that, as a baby, whenever she took me outside, I would immediately start to cry. I have never broken a bone, had poison ivy, or seen a shooting star.
But I do like some outside things. I like rappelling and rock-climbing, oddly enough. I also like riding motorcycles (riding on the back of said bikes; I can't drive one). An ex of mine was happy to accommodate the latter. So one Saturday afternoon, we went for a leisurely late lunch and drive around the city.
Sometimes when we were tooling around, the end of the chin-strap on my helmet would fly up and smack me in the face. It hurt. A lot. Especially if we were going down the highway. It felt like I'd been sliced in the face. But Saturday afternoon, doing maybe 40 mph should not have produced such an effect. Nonetheless, I felt a sharp stinging sensation that I at first assumed was the chin-strap.
But it was too high for the chin-strap. It was in my ear. My next thought (granted, all of these happened in the course of about three seconds) was that my earrings were caught on something. But it still HURT. It kept hurting, stinging. I stuck a finger inside my ear-flap and immediately heard an angry buzzing sound, and my finger plucked out (and promptly threw away) a bee.
And it HURT. It stung. It burned. It throbbed. I had already said, "OWW!" quite loudly. As soon as I processed what had happened, I think I beat my girlfriend on the helmet, saying, "Go home! Go home! Go home!" Obviously, we were already heading home, but this translated into: "Please go home now using the most direct route because I am in severe pain."
My ear was stinging, burning; I could actually feel it swelling up. Every bump in the road made it throb; the wind whistling past just emphasized the heat radiating. I had my hands on my girlfriend's shoulders, gripping for dear life, her shirt clenched in my fists. I cried nearly the whole way home, unable to do anything but wait out the ride. At stoplights, I occasionally wondered if people thought she was kidnapping me. "What is that butch woman doing to that poor girl crying on the back of the motorcycle??"
In addition to not having any broken bones or outbreaks of poison-whatever, I have never been stung by a bee or wasp or anything. Never. Ever. Not even once, not even a tiny sweat bee. I had no idea it hurt so badly, even though I've feared it for the past twenty-some years. When we got back to my place, and I gingerly removed my helmet (convinced that side of my head had swollen up to Quasimodo proportions), and looked at her, and just said pathetically, "It huuuuuuuurts!"
To which she replied, "Yes, well, probably because the stinger is still in your ear."
Aaack! Using tweezers, she gently removed it from my right ear, and I promptly removed all jewelry. I also called my mom to ask, "What do you do for a bee sting?" I had no idea; I had never had one before.
Unfortunately, Mom didn't know either. She said, "Ohhh, did you get stung by a bee?"
Me: "Yesss. (sniffle) It flew inside my helmet."
Mom: "Oh, while you were out on the motorbike?" (Yes, my mother actually used the word "motorbike." I have no idea why.)
Me: (still pathetic) "Uh-huh."
While this was going, the girlfriend was looking up online how to treat bee stings. My grandmother was also deathly allergic to them, so I was paranoid about that, too; although, you can't usually discover an allergy until the second sting. Finally Mom asked, "Well, were you at least having a good time up until then?"
I said, "Yes, I was fine -- until five minutes before I got stung when a bird shit on my arm!!!"
At this point my mother just started laughing, then tried (unconvincingly) to apologize for laughing at me. "Oh, sweetie, you're just not meant to be outside!"
"I know!" I wailed into the phone. "But I thought maybe if we were going fast enough, Outside wouldn't know I was there!!"
Yes, a bird really did shit on my arm about five minutes before "the bee incident." Two things in one day, within five minutes of each other, that have never, ever happened to me. So when I say no to camping, river-rafting, float-tripping, please remember this story. Oh, but do call me when you go ziplining! I totally want to do that.
I am not an outdoorsy person. Even people who barely know me, know this. I am a house cat. I like the comforts of home. I like my computer, my electric lights, hot water, and, of course, air conditioning. If I could, I would build a shrine to my A/C and worship it daily.
I do not like bugs, dirt, sweat, or sleeping in uncomfortable places. Yes, I am a rather spoiled and high-maintenance Leonard, but at least I can admit that. And admitting it is half the battle. Therefore, I do not go outside if I can help it. I don't do "outside things." However, only 50% of this is because I don't like it. The other 50% (okay, maybe it's more like 60/40) is because if I know I won't have a good time, I don't want to ruin other people's good times by whining and complaining and being an all around pain in the ass. Let's just save ourselves the trouble and not make Leonard go outside to begin with. At least that's my logic.
I have always been this way. My mother swears that, as a baby, whenever she took me outside, I would immediately start to cry. I have never broken a bone, had poison ivy, or seen a shooting star.
But I do like some outside things. I like rappelling and rock-climbing, oddly enough. I also like riding motorcycles (riding on the back of said bikes; I can't drive one). An ex of mine was happy to accommodate the latter. So one Saturday afternoon, we went for a leisurely late lunch and drive around the city.
Sometimes when we were tooling around, the end of the chin-strap on my helmet would fly up and smack me in the face. It hurt. A lot. Especially if we were going down the highway. It felt like I'd been sliced in the face. But Saturday afternoon, doing maybe 40 mph should not have produced such an effect. Nonetheless, I felt a sharp stinging sensation that I at first assumed was the chin-strap.
But it was too high for the chin-strap. It was in my ear. My next thought (granted, all of these happened in the course of about three seconds) was that my earrings were caught on something. But it still HURT. It kept hurting, stinging. I stuck a finger inside my ear-flap and immediately heard an angry buzzing sound, and my finger plucked out (and promptly threw away) a bee.
And it HURT. It stung. It burned. It throbbed. I had already said, "OWW!" quite loudly. As soon as I processed what had happened, I think I beat my girlfriend on the helmet, saying, "Go home! Go home! Go home!" Obviously, we were already heading home, but this translated into: "Please go home now using the most direct route because I am in severe pain."
My ear was stinging, burning; I could actually feel it swelling up. Every bump in the road made it throb; the wind whistling past just emphasized the heat radiating. I had my hands on my girlfriend's shoulders, gripping for dear life, her shirt clenched in my fists. I cried nearly the whole way home, unable to do anything but wait out the ride. At stoplights, I occasionally wondered if people thought she was kidnapping me. "What is that butch woman doing to that poor girl crying on the back of the motorcycle??"
In addition to not having any broken bones or outbreaks of poison-whatever, I have never been stung by a bee or wasp or anything. Never. Ever. Not even once, not even a tiny sweat bee. I had no idea it hurt so badly, even though I've feared it for the past twenty-some years. When we got back to my place, and I gingerly removed my helmet (convinced that side of my head had swollen up to Quasimodo proportions), and looked at her, and just said pathetically, "It huuuuuuuurts!"
To which she replied, "Yes, well, probably because the stinger is still in your ear."
Aaack! Using tweezers, she gently removed it from my right ear, and I promptly removed all jewelry. I also called my mom to ask, "What do you do for a bee sting?" I had no idea; I had never had one before.
Unfortunately, Mom didn't know either. She said, "Ohhh, did you get stung by a bee?"
Me: "Yesss. (sniffle) It flew inside my helmet."
Mom: "Oh, while you were out on the motorbike?" (Yes, my mother actually used the word "motorbike." I have no idea why.)
Me: (still pathetic) "Uh-huh."
While this was going, the girlfriend was looking up online how to treat bee stings. My grandmother was also deathly allergic to them, so I was paranoid about that, too; although, you can't usually discover an allergy until the second sting. Finally Mom asked, "Well, were you at least having a good time up until then?"
I said, "Yes, I was fine -- until five minutes before I got stung when a bird shit on my arm!!!"
At this point my mother just started laughing, then tried (unconvincingly) to apologize for laughing at me. "Oh, sweetie, you're just not meant to be outside!"
"I know!" I wailed into the phone. "But I thought maybe if we were going fast enough, Outside wouldn't know I was there!!"
Yes, a bird really did shit on my arm about five minutes before "the bee incident." Two things in one day, within five minutes of each other, that have never, ever happened to me. So when I say no to camping, river-rafting, float-tripping, please remember this story. Oh, but do call me when you go ziplining! I totally want to do that.
(Image courtesy of I Can Has Cheezburger)
Motorbike is a common word! Also. I find this story funny.
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