Kill it! Wait, it's already dead.

This weekend, I found myself in the horrible dilemma of discovering a threat while hurtling down the Interstate at breakneck speed. An insect (notably one bearing the ability to pierce, sting, jab and threaten) revealed itself as my nemesis. There was a bee in the car.

I kept steeling glances at it to make sure I still knew where it was.

As long as it wasn't moving, I could remain calm.

Things were okay for a while until...

(dun dun DUN!)

They weren't!

Tweet stream:
........

"To the bee polishing his stinger that just ducked into my car during a rainstorm in which I stupidly left window open: friends?"

"Also, a side note to the universe: I would like now not to be the time to test possible allergy dr warned me about. #EpipenAtHome"

"He's kinda cute though, even if not exactly cuddly: http://twitpic.com/4y7le0"

"Not sure how he just ended up ON me but this experiment in insectivarian kindness has just ended. NEED not to be trapped in traffic now."

"This vehcle has just turned into a Far Side cartoon. Or a Seinfeld episode. Not sure which. In other news, the "fling" reflex is alive&well."

"I do not care if I look like a nutjob on the side of the beltway shaking out clothes. I will not rest until I locate the body."

"Not one, but TWO bodies located, the considerably-larger one dying. A mating pair? Does copulation kill them?"

........

I don't know if either bee stung someone else and got flung into traffic or HOW they otherwise ended up in my car during a rainstorm but I felt kinda bad for the poor critters when I saw they were dying.

No sympathy, though, for the thin, mean fucker that stung me on the first day of vacation to an exotic locale in California. FIVE minutes into a beautiful hike RIGHT after I finished reading the "Beware -- heavy bee activity!!!!" sign, I got pierced by a tiny thing helicoptering around me

He sent me to the hospital where they speared me with a giant needle: 1,000 mg of steroids right in my ass. (Steroids, by the way, make you moody as FUCK.)

I spent the rest of the vacation trying to keep the hot (very UNsexily) throbbing, wobbly tennis ball in my forearm from getting smashed.

Doc said I was either allergic to the venom itself or some bacteria on the stinger that got inserted when he jabbed me.

I am *very* grateful I didn't have to verify which 2 days ago.

I suppose I could be like a buddy of mine who was told he could have a fatal seafood allergy. He loaded up a plate of shrimp and drove to the emergency room to dine in their parking lot, figuring well, here's the test. If his throat closes, he'll just run inside!

Maybe I need to stage bee confrontations a little better.