— Circumstances beyond my control have been wreaking havoc on my well-laid summer plans. My writing is pretty much at a standstill at the moment, so I decided to take a trip in the “way-back machine” and share with you my first article. It was originally printed in October 2001, or maybe it was 2002. I can’t remember anymore.
My writing style has developed over the years, and I considered re-writing this story to bring it up to my current standards. But instead I will leave it in its original form. The story is a good one, even if the writing it is a bit stilted.
One hot summer day, my husband and I were waiting for an appraiser to come and look at the older, country home we were planning to buy.
I was very pregnant and very uncomfortable. Since the house had not been lived in for a while, it was stuffy and musty so we decided to wait on the front steps. My husband, being the curious little-boy type, lifted a giant stone slab off of the brick column I was sitting near. I don’t know what he thought he would find, but he got more than he bargained for. A giant bee flew out and started swarming around my head! I tried the old, “don’t bother it, and it won’t bother you,” but what a fallacy that proved to be.
I started running through the front yard yelling and hollering like a crazy, pregnant woman. Hubby followed close behind, waving his arms and trying to re-direct the bee. I stopped in the driveway, thinking I had outrun it. I looked down and fear struck as I saw the bee fly up my shorts! I ran down the driveway shrieking and stripping out of my maternity clothes. (Fortunately, only one person drove by and honked during my little striptease.) I jumped into my car but not before getting stung on the thigh.
I was sitting in the front seat, getting dressed and wondering how to stop the swelling with no ice or water nearby, when I noticed my husband dancing a little jig in front of the car. I watched him take off around the house with the bee in hot pursuit. I don’t think I have ever seen this 6-foot 4-inch man run so fast.
He rounded the corner of the house and dived into his truck. He apparently thought he was safe, but as he sat there trying to catch his breath, I saw him start flailing his arms wildly, the bee flying around his head. He managed to get out of the truck and start running my way. I threw the car door open and he careened into the back seat, but not before getting stung on the thigh.
We sat there waiting for the bee to get bored and go away, but it was extremely persistent. When it began flying repeatedly into the windshield, I started driving up and down the driveway. We were hoping the appraiser wouldn’t come and think we were lunatics.
When she finally arrived, we stepped cautiously from the car. We limped over to greet her and tried to warn her of the impending danger. She just threw back her head and laughed. Apparently she had never experienced the wrath of a mad bee. Hubby staggered away to take a business call on his cellphone. Suddenly, I heard the terrifying, and all too familiar, sound of buzzing. I stepped back and breathlessly told the appraiser that the bee was on the bottom of her pant leg. She tried to shake it off, to no avail. It flew up her pants.
She took off running down the driveway, slapping at her ample bottom and screaming. I followed as closely as I could, considering my pregnant condition and injured inner thigh. When we got to the end of the drive she pulled her pants down!
My husband, still on the phone, watched in disbelief as I started swatting at her backside. The bee was rolled up in her underpants. I frantically tried to help her get free and finally knocked the bee to the ground. I stomped on it again and again to ensure that it was dead.
As I was mopping the sweat from my brow, the appraiser turned her backside to me, bent over and inquired, “Is the stinger out?”
Truitt is an author, speaker and mother of five. Email her at firstname.lastname@example.org.