Things that go buzz in the day

I'm bitter. I just got stung AGAIN. It hasn't even been 48 hours since the last angry wasp plunged its stinger into my unsuspecting skin. This time I wasn't sleeping, at least, but I was still surprised.

I was gathering up clothes to wash a dark load of laundry. David had two pairs of pants on our bedroom floor, both with one leg inside out. Being the good wife, I picked up the first pair—jeans—and started to turn the errant leg flap to its rightful position. I reached in and felt another hot, searing pinch, this time on the palm of my right hand near my thumb.

Yelping—loud and amazingly curse-free—ensued. Noah was down the hallway, and he immediately became concerned. "Mama? Mama??!"

I sighed, told him I was fine, and dug out a bag of frozen vegetables out of the freezer to nurse my wound.

Now I'm just bitter. I called David and told him that he'd be spending this new extended daylight seeking out wasp entry points. I'm tired of being stung! Until I turned 30, I'd been stung three times that I can recall. Seems I'm on quite the streak now.

There is still a silver lining: it definitely appears I'm not allergic, and the stings don't hurt nearly as much as I remember. Well... the first five minutes aren't great, but it goes away fast. I'm guessing that childbirth has tempered my memory—and my pain index—quite a bit. Regardless, two stings in 48 hours? That's enough.