What is it about being on the highest rung of a ladder, teetering ever so slightly as you lean out to apply paint to the siding that tempts fate?
No, I didn't fall off.
But I should have.
I've got my sloppy painting clothes on. Stained tee shirt and loose sweat pant shorts.
A bee has been hanging around attracted to the smell of the paint I assume. I've been waving him away for the past few minutes, unconcerned. Bees and I usually get along just fine.
I feel a tickle on my tush.
I reach down and "Hello Kitty!!"
I knew I was stung.
I haven't had a bee sting in 30+ years. My adrenaline shot through the roof as I climbed down off the ladder cursing like a fiend.
I go to the bathroom and pull up my shorts. F-ing Bastard crawled up on my leg, inside my shorts and caught me where my hip and butt meet.
"Son of a..." as the pain increased and it started welting up. Ice packs, baking soda and a Benedryl later I was still shaking like a leaf.
So much for THAT paint job.
Who knew such a sweet innocent little thing as a bee could put the kaibosh on a project?