7/5/24
It is crucial that you stay vigilant out here. Otherwise, you might end up gettin’ your cheek stung.
Which cheek? You might ask?
It doesn’t matter. The pesky predators out here don’t discriminate.
One morning, just a couple weeks ago, I was sitting out on the front porch steps, eating my breakfast, like I do most mornings.
Quite used to the occasional curious fly, I was less than concerned when I heard buzzing nearby.
The curious fly flew closer, now all up in my space and annoying me.
“Shoo fly!” I swatted my free hand around, holding firmly to my bowl of oatmeal with the other.
The fly persisted.
“Shoo! Shoo!” I swatted once more.
And that’s when I noticed.
A blur of yellow zipping around me.
Now startled, I did the exact thing you are not supposed to do.
I freaked the F out.
“Get it Toast!” I pleaded, desperately.
But Toast had already slipped back into the Tiny House. Survival and self-preservation his top priority.
Now alone, left to fend for myself, I began to flee.
I abandoned my oatmeal on the porch and tried to put some distance between me and the bee, swatting my hands all around my head.
The little bugger was quick, and smart.
He zapped me right on my cheek, just below my ear, near my jaw.
I swear he was going for my jugular.
Outraged, irritated and betrayed, I locked myself in the car, swearing under my breath.
Lesson learned, I practiced keeping my composure upon my following encounters with bees and the like.
I thought the best course of action would be to just ignore them when they came too close, and calmly move myself away from them if I felt threatened.
So you can imagine my surprise when I was once again stung by one of these MF’ers, completely unprovoked.
I’d just gotten home and was in the process of unpacking my car, making my way between the driveway and the tiny house.
Fully invested in the phone conversation I was having with my cousin, I had both of my airpods in.
Perhaps that was my fatal mistake. I was distracted. Off my game.
Mid-sentence, I felt the invasive, volatile sensation of a stinger being impaled. right. in. my. butt cheek.
Well Lindsey, you might ask, what were you doing with them cheeks out?!
Riddle me this, dear reader. How did a bee manage to effectively strike me, through my jean shorts, completely undetected?
I had not seen, felt, or heard any indication of a bee anywhere near me leading up to, or following the attack.
I was baffled. I couldn’t believe it.
And let me tell you this, a butt cheek bee sting is not a wound to easily be ignored.
The discomfort of such a sting has me covering both cheeks with my hands every time I walk past the scene of the crime.
I’ve been on the lookout for their nest. Inspecting beneath and around the porch, cautiously, to find where they must be congregating.
I can’t help but replay a conversation I had with Jenn, nearly 6 weeks ago.
“I knocked a nest out of the umbrella [in the front yard] but forgot to stomp it out. It’s located right around here [describes relative location of nest on the ground]. You’ll need to stomp it out at nightfall” Jenn instructed me.
I promised I would, then never did.
And now, the umbrella bees are ground bees. And they are furious.
As I reflect upon my error, and tend to my wounds, I now see the importance in following through with extermination instructions.
I always thought I was a summer girl, but now I look forward to the insect-free solace of winter.