I am staring at my left thigh, about three inches above the knee - a dime-sized splotch of swollen pink skin with a red pin-prick of a dot in the center. I can't believe it - this weekend I got my first ever, ever bee-sting of my whole life. It didn't hurt as bad as I imagined it would, it just itched for a few minutes.
I'm mostly dissapointed that I've forever lost one of those rare "distinguishing facts" that you can use to introduce yourself in a group setting. "I've never, ever, ever been stung by a bee" works a lot better than "my favorite color is blue" when you're asked for your name, hometown, and "something interesting about yourself." Which I've always thought was a wretched, self-important way to start off any class/seminar/orientation/training etc. What difference does it make if you're double-jointed? How does that fact make you at all more interesting than the person in the next desk? I know such introductions are meant to be ice-breakers or a tool for instructors to remember your name. But they still suck. And now I have to go back to being that girl who's remembered by her favorite flower. At least until I can think of something better.
On a more postive note, I received the sting while lounging outside a coffeeshop in Cleveland yesterday. Paul and I spent the weekend visiting his great Aunt, who I can best describe as OLD. All mortifying restaurant fiascos with grumpy disatisfied old people aside, it was a delightful trip. And she was a delightful lady. (even though her gentleman friend, Dee, made me want to fall through the floorboards when he started giving our waitress hell... I thought I would die. I wanted to die.)
But it was a good chance to get away. To that end, I didn't care where we went. Or how many waitresses we upset.
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