Pooter got stung by a bee today. It was very much not fun. In his own words, “The bee looked dead in my pool but then it crawled on my hand. That was creepy!”.
He’s learned a very valuable lesson today, namely to use a cup when fishing out (allegedly) dead insects from the pool. He also learned that bees are not necessarily going to be grateful that you’ve saved their lives. In fact, they will immediately negate that saving of the life by stinging you and therefore killing themselves.
Bees are ornery little fuckers, is what I’m saying here.
Pooter was very brave…at first. He pulled out the stinger (or the ‘barb’, as he calls it) himself, but it all went downhill after that. Now this is a kid who not two weeks ago took a t-ball to the cheek and laughed, so he’s a pretty tough little booger. Apparently, a bee sting on the pad of your thumb is way worse than a ball to the face.
For awhile there, he was convinced the pain would never end. I wish now I’d videotaped the whole thing because you people would have been swept into the drama. “Oh, Mother dear, when will this suffering be at an end? Why, amongst all His children, has God forsaken me?”
Then after he made me call various members of his fan club so he could update them on his condition, he pronounced himself all better and we went outside and played soccer in our flip-flops (ouchie toes!) and sprayed each other with the hose.
Honestly, I’m just glad he didn’t make me cart his little ass to the ER so he could get a cast on his thumb. I’m not sure where he gets the dramatic streak, but I SWEAR TO GOD IN HEAVEN, I CAN’T BEAR IT MUCH LONGER!
(ACTING!) <—That was going to link to a video of Jon Lovitz as The Master Thespian from Saturday Night Live. I cannot find any such video in all of Youtube. I’m a sad, sad girl.
Also, on a not related at all note: RIP-George Carlin. I shall say dirty words often in the next few days in honor of you.
Okay, more often.