It's A Funny World I Live In Pt 3

A Bug Story 2 (AKA How I found Out I'm Not Allergic to Bee-stings)
I took some artistic license with the dialogue in the story for comedic effect. But the story is true.

The Falls

I was at the famous Dunns River Falls a couple of weeks ago climbing the falls. We had a good time and afterwards we went to the beach and into the ocean. I am not a huge ocean guy (poor swimmer, don't like the taste of saltwater, or feeling like a prune after being in too long) but I went in anyway because...well...I didn't want to lay on the beach by myself like a pathetic loser.

So I go in and we're having fun and then suddenly I feel a very sharp pricking sensation on my right arm.  It was more irritating than painful, but I was trying to have a conversation in the water, while standing on my toes to keep the water from going into my mouth (in addition to being a poor swimmer, I also don't tread water very well. Or for very long.) I try to brush it aside, thinking it's a piece of seaweed or something. Finally I look at my arm and its like a shard of glass is wedged in it.

What the...? 

I pull the glass-like thing out of my arm, wondering why everyone brags about how great the ocean water is in this country. (Half-afraid of someones old rum bottle getting lodged in my larynx.)  And then I see a bee floating across the water, one wing still buzzing a bit.

It was laughing at me.

The thing was literally on its dying breath, and it spent its dying breath laughing its stinger off at me trying to pick a shard of glass out of my skin, not realizing it's a bee stinger. And to think, the first time I've been stung by a bee in my whole life of course would happen in the water. How random is that?

Close friends from the States were with us, Hilary and her mom Phyllis Savage. Those two are like family to me.  If I was going to be stung by a bee without a member of my family around, I'm glad they were there. (Although I would have been more glad just not being stung.) They of course insisted that I was going to be in a great deal of pain, and horrific swelling would set in.

To combat this, Hilary kept trying to give me drugs. I was perfectly fine by the time we got back to the house, and felt hardly any soreness. But no protests from me is going to stop my big sister Hilary.

She walks up to me, grabs my arm.

'Look how much its swollen!' She hands me a glass of water and two brown pills. She then uses here fingers trying to find the bump where the sting was.

'Where's the sting? Does it hurt a lot?'

'Only when you're digging your fingernail into it, like you're doing right now.'

'Oh yeah, the sting is right here. Aw, poor Phillip. It's swelling up a lot.'

'That's actually my arm muscle.  I know, sounds absurd coming from a scrawny guy like me. Look, the other arm is the same size.'

('OhmyGod did you get stung on your other arm too?') 'Poor Phillip. You're going to be sore tomorrow. Take your pills.'

Somewhere, the ghost of the bee was laughing at me still from beyond the grave. (As was Cathy Chai in the background.)

Hilary, in all seriousness, if you are reading this blog, I'm glad you were there looking after me.  I hope that if I ever get stung by a hornet or yellow-jacket, you'll be there to force drugs on me.

Actually I hope never to be stung by anything ever again for as long as I live. But in the event that I am...well, you get my drift.