The Sting

While enjoying a perfectly civil game of backyard cricket the other day, as I stood in a catching position awaiting the next delivery, in a brief interlude between the frequent rain that is the British summer right now, I suddenly felt a sharp poke just below my left collar bone.

It wasn’t the greatest of pains, but it was a damn annoyance. Then, I suddenly realised that it must be connected to my brother’s protestations only a few minutes earlier that he was being chased by a wasp.

It was then I got a little flustered. Because there was no wasp to be seen. But I could Hear it. It was buzzing frantically, underneath my t-shirt. I tried as I might to get the bloody thing out, but couldn’t. So I had no choice but to remove it, which is not something I like to do in public, because such people, who strip off at the merest glimpse of sunshine, annoy the hell out of me.

I took it off and delicately lifted it up and down. Still it buzzed and refused to leave. It had obviously got quite comfortable in there. I had to turn it inside out before the bloody thing flew away, quite pleased with itself.

This was the second time I had been stung in my life. The first time was when I got stung in the mouth about six years ago. That was when I was drinking a bottle of coke, and the wasp had flown inside it. I picked up the bottle, drink from it, and felt a rather disgusting, insect shaped lump in my mouth. Then a much worse pain than the one I felt the other day just below my gum on in the inside of my top row of teeth. I spat everything out and howled in pain, and the wasp managed to fly away. I don’t know how it didn’t drown.

The common theme between these two incidents is the internal nature of them. There can’t be many people who’ve been stung inside the mouth by a wasp. But this latest incident was under my t-shirt. A long sleeved t-shirt with closed arm cuffs. That means it must have flew up the bottom of the t-shirt, and crawled up my body until it found a good spot to sting. The bastard. Most people get stung on the arms and legs, you know, exposed parts of the body. Not me.

The following night I had a dream about bees, and a woke up with the thought that there was a bee sitting on my hand, which flew away out the open window when I woke up. I even heard the buzzing sound really loud after I was awake. I managed to convince myself that it must have actually happened… yet, of course it didn’t.

I swear my brain is trying to make me scared of wasps and bees when I never have been before…

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