I live in a pretty small town. Bugs are a pretty huge constant here. We have farm animals and massive irrigation ditches, and it's kind of amusing. I'm pretty phobic of bugs. That is to say, I'm incredibly phobic of bugs. I can't manage to step on them 95% of the time because I freak out. Coincidentally, I freak out less when I'm alone, versus with friends or family.
Anyway, today, I had my nails done and I had almost an hour and a half to spare before an appointment for a facial. So, I decided to drive around our little, desolate town. It was important anyway, because my Chevy has been an absolute disaster. Every year as spring rolls around, it screws up when I have to start periodically activating the air conditioner. To do this test, I headed out to an area with fields and houses every mile or so. The speed limit was 50mph, and I had the windows rolled halfway down because the damage was done, the A/C didn't need to be on for me to figure out things were not working.
As I'm cruising along, actually with the intent to weed back around to head to downtown (all two blocks of it), I heard a soft thump against the window at my side. Something in my head realized what was happening. It was confirmed, as a spike of pain shot through my back, starting at my shoulder blade. I knew what was going on. A bee had managed to get sucked into my car and landed between my back and the car. So I did the most logical thing, and that was to start flinging myself back against the seat to kill the bitch. Nevermind that a bee dies after the initial sting.
A flat off-road area came near and I skidded off onto it and threw open my door and tossed the seatbelt as I was still firmly pressed against the seat, determined to at least suffocate it. A moment was taken to brace myself for whatever hideous, bug-guts-everywhere scene I would face, along with the probability that I didn't kill it, it hadn't died, and things would get ugly.
Flailing from the car, I started ripping at my shirt like a mad woman, convinced it was still there and waiting for me. I very nearly ripped my entire shirt off, thus giving the few passers by quite the show. But my shirt was clean, other than a little tan bit. Cool. This was good. It stung, the bee body was on the floor of the car, and I remembered that my mother has horrific allergic reactions to bee stings., My phobia wouldn't allow me to dispose of the body, but I was able to grab my phone. A failed attempt to call my father, I was on the phone with her (having woke her up, whoops). No, I wasn't having a reaction, because it would have hit really quick.
I headed over, she checked it, it looked sore but alright. I went to my facial appointment with my windows firmly sealed and my poorly running A/C on, burning up gas. I came back, and requested my father extract the body of my vicious attacker. He did, at which point I was informed that it wasn't a bee. It was a wasp. So had I not been so keen on beating it to death with my back, it would have continued to sting me over and over and over. :|
I live in a pretty small town. Bugs are a pretty huge constant here. We have farm animals and massive irrigation ditches, and it's kind of amusing. I'm pretty phobic of bugs. That is to say, I'm incredibly phobic of bugs. I can't manage to step on them 95% of the time because I freak out. Coincidentally, I freak out less when I'm alone, versus with friends or family.
Cue tonight.
Sitting here, minding my own business, my spidey-sense obviously went off because I randomly chanced a glance at the ceiling iver my headm and there was a spider on the ceiling. I did the mature thing and shouted there was a spider on the ceiling above me. As my father wandered off to find spray, I made sure to do a play-by-play on what I was seeing the spider doing, as that is obviously very helpful. "Oh my god, IT'S EATING ANOTHER BUG. ...well, not now, because it dropped it into the floor lamp. OH MY GOD THERE ARE ANTS ON THE CEILING."
They weren't ants, just little gnats that flew in when we've been going in and out.
So, he sprayed it. Over and over, actually, as it didn't want to die. It walked the ceiling, I screamed and hauled ass across the room because gsdghs and my back (it's a bad back) shrieked but I didn't care. My choice was wise. It fell soon after, and I was going on about how it landed where I sit and he needed to check the pillows and the blanket and the cushion because it hit the couch arm and rolled one way or the other. My father couldn't find it. I made sure to maturely yell at him to check the blanket and pillow I was using, while my mother sat across the room and laughed at me--alongside him. Still, nothing could be found.
I've spent the whole night somewhat sore still from the sting, very sore with my back, and convinced that 5/21/2011 would cause the spider to rise again, and it would bite me in its new, upgraded zombie form.
I really do hate bugs.
