October
2006
Wasp venom, headaches and bathroom doors
The last 24 hours were probably cursed by an angry voodoo-skilled patient. That, or the Great Powers That Be were out to get me.
It started yesterday, when my parents asked us to help harvesting the grapes from their wineyard. We accepted and merrily proceeded to part the nectar-holding spheres from their vines. Laughter and chatting was all you could hear over the rows, until, oh faithful readers, I’ve put my hand between two curs’d leaves and reached for a forbidden fruit. The sting! The pain! The cry of sheer horror! A yellowjacketed guardian flew away and I was left there cursing while the stung finger burned like a Texas barbecue and quickly turned to red. It also friggin’doubled its size. I was sent to rest and hold it under cold water. The water turned out to be a bad idea (the pain worsened) but gently blowing air on it while watching the reddened vein-pattern on the back of the finger proved to be effective. Now it only hurts when I touch something cold with it.
Today started with a headache. Mind you, usually headaches got nothin’on me - I sigh, promise myself to get more sleep, dismiss the Nurofen pill graciously and it goes away in an hour or so. Today’s headache was the rabid kind - hours and hours of rubbing the temples, applying water and feeling nauseated. Then again, lots of people around me were complaining of the same symptoms so it was probably some atmospheric front effect . I hope so, because the noggin is still hurting.
Then there was the bathroom door. More precisely, my workplace’s bathroom door. I discovered this morning that it had swollen in the weekend from the humidity and so, you couldn’t close it from the outside. Therefore, when nature called, I locked the door of my room - where the entrance to our bathroom is located - entered the bathroom and just for fun, I slammed it once more. Surprisingly, it worked. Not so surprisingly, it worked so well that now I couldn’t open it. I tried with one hand, two hands, two hands and a leg - still couldn’t open it. Then I realised that I was in the middle of a B-list comedy - the only key to my room was on the table so even if I’d shouted there was no chance anybody could open and help me. And I laughed at how Murphy was proven right again. Fortunately, he’s not infaillible - I focused, invoked the spirit of the Great Leather Couch -you know, the shrink’s totem animal - kicked it once more and the door opened.
Somewhere on a cloud Papillon was probably winking at me.
Cold water? Blowing? Hogwash!
Everyone in Texas knows that when you get yourself stung by a yeller jacket, why you just gotta immediately start a-cursin’ all of creation and then quickly follow it up with a shot tequila or whiskey. Go sit down somewhere comfortable and nurse a beer or twelve until the pain goes away.
(Lessin’ yer a feller, of course. Cuz then your old lady’s liable to just holler at you’s ta git back to work, ya lazy no good bum. Tho, I reckon we all know thats just an excuse to watch her stories on the telebishun.)
I’m glad you escaped from the bathroom!
I got stung by a yellowjacket this summer. It came out of nowhere and stung my leg for no reason. I was about to drive 30 miles to teach a class, and I drove the whole 30 miles swearing.
Trapped in a bathroom…that’s horror movie stuff for me.
There is something going on with doors, lately! The Mom recently discovered that her car has an “delayed auto-lock” feature - you should go read her story, it’s quite entertaining.
And stop being all macho - take the headache pills!
great post. i would take the headache relief!
Romerican - in my defense, I must have cursed for five minutes or so. The booze was out of the question though because I was put to look after Timi since I wasn’t capable of anything else at the moment.
Phyllis - Now THAT is swearing. Are you, by any chances, of texan origins?
Mist - I suppose it all depends on how you see things - and how claustrophobic you are.
Mrs.S and hodgepodger - I took ..a good sleep. The headache is gone. Stubborn as a mule, my mom says.
Mrs.S, care to give a link for the Mom’s post?
My brother got stung inside his mouth once - now that’s a real sting.
In the UK we call them (the insects referred to as yellowjackets by Americans) wasps. Which of course means something very different over there. I remember telling someone while I lived there of an experience when I’d been attacked by a wasp, but managed to avoid being stung, and them looking open mouthed at me. Only later did we clear up the misunderdstanding.
Duh, I’ve just re-read your post title, and realised you knew that all along.
The Mom’s Site: http://imgob.blogspot.com/
It should be the first/top post there, and if it’s not, it’s the post from October 15th. SO funny
Csiki, how cheeky are you being, there?
Over in the former colony, we have 3 distinct such critters: bees, yellowjackets, and wasps.
WASPs, on the other hand, are entirely different matter.
Then again, we’ve also got a fourth: hornet.
Some might say the bumble bee were a fifth category, as opposed to the humble bee.
How about killer bees?
(And, of course, by now everyone probably realizes I’ve simply embarrassed myself by resorting to Wikipedia to verify the veracity of my own hazy recollection of biological trivia.)
Wait ..aren’t yellowjackets and hornets both just types of wasps, while bees and bumblebees are an entirelly different matter? You got me confused here.
I always thought yellowjackets were a kind of wasp. I dunno about hornets. I guess it really doesn’t matter much when you’re stung!
And no, Ada, I’m no Texan.
Yankee!
I actually live somewhat south of Richmond, Virginia–but in California. So I guess that makes me a Yankee.
When I lived in the US (in Vermont) the following was the official version of who was a Yankee:
For everybody outside the US, all US Americans are Yankees
For people south of the Mason Dixon, people north of it are Yankees
For everybody north of that line, New Englanders are Yankees
For people from MA, CT or RI, Northern New Englanders are Yankees
For Vermonters and New Hampshire people, people from Maine are Yankees
Within Maine, a Yankee is someeone who eats apple pie for breakfast.
I think you had to be more a less a Yankee to get it - certainly everyone in Vermont found it very amusing, whereas I was baffled.
Don’t know about them there Vermonter Yanks, but we have a little saying about steers and queers…
Ouch, the memories you brought back with this one. A few years ago I got lost with my friends in the woods on a mountain. The guy walking in front of me stepped on a nest of wasps and the panicked little fellows flew around aimlessly, most of them landing on me. I was stung in a few places (also on my scalp, which gave me the shivers for hours). A wasp was stuck under my shirt and I only discovered it a couple of hours later, when, of course, it stung me.