A Bee, 8 January, 2009

A Bee, 8 January, 2009

The other day I posted a essay entitled Did I Tackle Your Christmas Tree? in which I talked about how real life is often far more bizarre and interesting than most fiction. True to form, life threw something my way last night that further emphasizes my point.

I had just climbed in bed last night when I received a text message from my girlfriend at 1:13 AM. She wrote, I just got stung by a bee. I texted back to as if she was kidding. She wrote and said she was serious, and so I called her. Apparently she had been laying on top of her bed in her underwear when she heard a buzzing sound. A moment later she felt something on her butt, and when she looked back she saw a bee, felt a sharp pain and realized she was being stung. She whacked the bee off her butt and then sent me that first text message.

I asked if she was certain it was a bee. It’s the beginning of January and it’s been an exceptionally cold here in the Northwest, and the odds of there being a bee in her room had to be low. Slowly she said,

“Actually I think it was a hornet or a yellowjacket or something.

It’s on the floor, I can see it.

And it’s still moving.

Oh god, hang on.”

She put the phone down and I heard some shuffling in the background, three heavy thudding bangs, and her angrily yelling, “Bitch!,” at what I presume was now the splattered carcass of the insect.

What struck me as odd wasn’t just the fact that there was a bee or hornet in her room at this time of year—I suppose it’s feasible one holed up in between her walls or something. What made me shake my head bemusedly and think of the other day’s essay was the way she handled the situation. I consider myself to be a fairly average person, and I tried imagining myself in her place. If I were to be randomly and unexpectedly attacked by an animal, I’d proceed by first removing or killing said animal, second ensuring there were no other animals prowling the area waiting to attack, third dressing and salving the wound in whatever way possible, and then and only then would I think about sending a text message to my significant other.

Yet after being stung she (bless her, because she really is terribly cute) chose first to text me multiple times, then to talk to me on the phone, and only then did she address the bee’s ongoing existence, to say nothing of the throbbing, swelling welt that was developing on her ass. We’ve been dating long enough and I think I have a fairly decent handle on her, and this fits her to a T. Where I—or any average person—would probably proceed as outlined above, she choose a far different route, one not only more interesting in its uniqueness but perfectly suited to her as a person.

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