The boy and I have taken to playing games of Frisbee recently. I’m (slowly) making progress, but my skills are lacking. The more accurate way to put it would be to say I suck, though it hasn’t stopped me from trying. It usually takes me a good 10 or 15 minutes to get warmed up, and then I’m flinging the thing around like a pro. Or at least in a semi-straight line.
I do enjoy being out in the sunshine, though — outside in the nice weather, barefoot and running around like a little kid. And we crack ourselves up, laughing at my lack of athletic prowess.
So this afternoon we were in the middle of such a game, taking “beer breaks” every time one of us would send the other into the woods to retrieve the errant Frisbee. It was during one of these retrieval missions that I stepped on what I thought was a thorn.
Ouch. Ouch. Ow… ow ow OW OWWWW OH MY GOD OW OW OW OW OWW!!! I hobbled around a little at first, then rather gracefully flung myself to the ground as the pain grew in intensity. MOTHER F*CKER OW OW OW OW OW!!!!
As the boy came over to investigate all the drama, I looked down on the bottom of my foot and pulled out a very large, spiny stinger attached to a miniscule, now sufficiently squished, little insect.
How can so much PAIN come from such a little bastard?!?!
I haven’t had many bee stings before. None in fact. I’d dealt with wasps once or twice when I was little, but I certainly didn’t remember them hurting this bad. And I wasn’t prepared for the fact that the pain kept getting worse. It didn’t help that the stinger had been lodged on the bottom of my foot, right on that tight little tendon on the inside of the arch. You know, the one that hurts like hell when you step on an oddly positioned pebble or a particularly large clump of sand? Yep. That’s the one.
I pitifully hobbled inside, clutching and squeezing and EEE!ing and OUCH!ing while the boy looked up bee sting remedies.
No! It hurts too bad!
That cinnaBURN gel with the sparkly tooth whitening SMART BEADS in our bathroom? Not on your life!
I eventually popped some tylenol and reluctantly wrapped a cold pack around my foot while he tried distracting me with a Family Guy episode. He doted on me, and even brought me back calamine lotion after he went to the store to buy food. I have a feeling this will soon disappear into my never-ending hallway closet of first aid supplies and won’t be discovered for another five years when someone mistakes it for Pepto Bismol.
After we ate I decided soaking in the tub would be nice, not thinking about the fact that HOT WATER probably isn’t the best thing for something you’ve been treating with ICE. Genius, this one.
So I spent the remainder of the night hobbling to and from the freezer switching out lukewarm ice packs for actual frozen ones, and watching a DVD of Gilmore Girls reruns — also known as my entertainment equivalent of comfort food and a warm blanket.
Yeah. I’m a wimp. I like her and all, but I have a feeling that Mother Nature and I have a ways to go before we’re bosom buddies.
Or perhaps I should just learn to keep my shoes on.
(Artwork courtesy of The Graphics Fairy)