search for my honey and you'll die
*CRUNCH*
Something was pinched between my fingers and the leg of my khakis... and with all that was in me I intended that it be dead if I ever saw it.
"An insect just bit my inner thigh," I said, looking up at Joe and his roommate Winter who were bagging my groceries for me. "And I'm holding it - dead - here in my pants."
The fellows stared at me incredulously.
After I was satisfied that the offender was truly dead I shook him to the floor, where Joe erupted into a flabbergasted mess. He was perplexed to the point I was almost comforting him. The freshly-dead yellow-jacket was inspected as I was petted.
"How did it get there? What are bees doing out in this weather? Were you hanging out near the bananas? This is preposterous! It's too cold for bees!"
As for me, the pain was causing me to worry. I was fairly sure aniphilaxis was not a problem, but the increasing heat and tingle of the venom was nearly unbearable.
The young men took me to my apartment and in my haste I left the bag with my canned soup in Winter's trunk. In a single motion I removed my pants and grabbed the baking soda with which I made a paste to apply to the mosterous welt on my thigh. The nucleus was clearly planted with the bees weaponry, but the application of the cool paste soothed the stinging, and when it dried it extracted the dart.
How I extol the glory of home remedies.
Joe stared in wonder at my pain, but he had to leave.
I don't know what this means. Somehow my graduate studies have neutered my ability to process symbology but I still hope to receive some analogical understanding.
I'm just glad the little prick waited to attack me after I was finished shopping.
