Last Sunday afternoon, it was a beautiful day, and I spent part of it sitting in a comfy chair outside, listening to the chimes in the glass trees and watching the hummingbirds at the feeders. That’s me, happy and smiling:
Then I decided to plant some tomatoes I’d bought the day before. (Yes, I know I’m late, but I always am.) Life was good . . . until he came along:
He made a sneak attack from the rear, and that was the end of happy, smiling me. He nailed me on the back of the right knee, and I was down for the count. Wailing, “Oh my God oh my God oh my God!” I danced my way into the house for medication and ice packs, checking as I passed through the kitchen that my EpiPen was where it was supposed to be in case I needed it. Then I collapsed into the chair, and did nothing for four days but whine, try not to scratch, give in and rub a little, take more medicine, replace ice pack and repeat.
Seriously, I lost four days to a wasp sting (and the antihistamine that makes me feel like someone pulled a translucent curtain between me and the rest of the world).
I did stir myself once, to clean and refill the wasp trap, then move it closer to where I got stung. This morning I happily emptied out a dozen or more dead pests and refilled it.
Here’s hoping all the rest of them die so sweet a death!