You Won’t Bee-lieve It.

29 Aug

Two days ago, I saw a boy no older than thirteen snatch a wasp out of the air, throw it on the ground (oh hey there Lonely Island) and tread it to death.

I admit that it’s not the nicest way to start today’s post, but it got me thinking about the last time I got stung by a bee.

I must have been about five or six years old, and it was a Tuesday afternoon around April. I can be certain it was a Tuesday as Mum had a friend round for dinner, and that only happens on Tuesdays. And it wouldn’t have been over the summer as the day after, I was back at school.

Anyway. I was faffing about in the garden on my own (because I had no friends who lived near me and never went “out” to play) and was aware of the fact that we had a swarm of bees nesting in one of the bushes halfway up the path.

Now, I’d been told in no uncertain terms to leave the hive alone. But even as a child, I was one BAMF (google that, Mum. Actually, on second thoughts, maybe don’t.) and I wasn’t going to let people tell me what to do.

To that end, I marched up towards the bush with a broom in my hand. I then took that broom to the bush and the hive within. WHAT A FUCKING STUPID IDEA THAT WAS, YOUNG ME. Turns out that bees don’t really like having a broom handle come crashing through their house. To be fair, I had enough of a meltdown when there was water coming through my ceiling in November, let alone a bit of a tree.

Within seconds, bees were flying out of their destroyed hive, and following me back towards the house. I was screaming with absolute terror, and looking back on it, I’m lucky that none went in my mouth. What actually happened was that a single bee stung me straight through my right earlobe, drawing blood.

There were many tears.

So what have we learnt from this?



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