There are many things that I love about being at my parent’s house. There is one thing that I don’t really love so much.
There are wasps everywhere.
And they hate me.
Today I was just standing there minding my own business when one swooped down and stung me on the arm. Luckily there was no one there to witness the words that may or may not have come pouring out of my mouth. If you’ve ever been stung by a wasp, I’m sure you understand.
At least this time I was able to keep my pants on.
Let me explain.
Last summer I was helping my mom and dad move a camper. There were some tall grasses grown up around it and I had kind of waded in to clear out some stuff when I stumbled into a wasp nest. Before I could make a move, a wasp flew up my pants and stung me three times. On the foot, on the ankle, and halfway up my calf.
Do you remember this scene from “A Christmas Story”?
I said “fudge” in front of my mother.
And since the wasp seemed determined to keep heading north and I couldn’t bear the thought of a wasp stinging me anywhere north of my upper thigh, I did the only thing I could think to do.
I took my pants off.
In front of my father.
Luckily for me, my father was totally understanding. He’s had a few wasps sting him in his day. He just shook his head and said,
“It was the only thing you could do.”
I may just stay inside from here on out.