Bees, Wondrous Bees

Author's Note:  This is a sob story, sorry personal narrative, that I wrote in class. Don't pay attention. Scroll on, as they say.

I sometimes wonder if I would remember the summer of 2009 as clearly as I do today if I hadn't been stung by that wasp.  Why should that affect my summer you ask.  Well if I was like 97% of adults and 99.5% of children it would be completely justifiable for you to ask.  I however  am not like those people, as I found out while visiting my grandparents.

My dad's parents have a house out in the middle of nowhere as well as a lake house in good ol' Michigan.  My parents, my sister and I were all staying at the lake house this time.  But as I had finally remembered to bring my bow my grandma and grandpa decided to take my sister and I up to their house so grandpa and I could shoot some.  Oh and to take our 'aggravating' selves off my parents hands.

However there is a huge difference between me and Grandpa Mike.  You see my grandpa hunts with his bow so it’s a high tech wonder.  Full of gadgets-scopes, deadly arrows, a quick release, everything.  So while he hit the target, the one he made himself and set up against the barn door, every time I didn't do so well.  Perhaps it was my lack of practice.  Perhaps it was my more simplistic bow.  Or it could have been that my arrows weren't sharp enough.  No matter what the cause was I still missed every single time.  Well okay I did hit the barn door above the target once, but whose counting?  I, resigned to the fact that I simply wasn't as good as Grandpa, collected my arrows and stood to the side to let Grandpa get his. But none of us knew that behind the target was a hive full of extremely agitated wasps.  When my grandpa pulled the last arrow out one wasp flew  out of the hive and headed straight for… Me.

Of course for a normal person this would be the end of the story.  But I've already mentioned that I'm not really normal.  The wasp got me once in the finger and once in the neck.  It hurt like a normal sting so I went inside to get some ice then sat down to watch TV with my sister.  I remember it clearly, we were watching 'Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs' (Sydney's choice) when my earrings started to feel too tight.  My ears were swelling.  I looked down and my finger was swelling too.  Of course I freaked out!  Grandma had to practically force feed me some Benadryl before bundling me into the car so we could drive back to the lake house and my 'mommy'.  

By the next day I had gone through having full body hives, my finger was three times its size, my neck had a lump in it, I had probably gone through a box of Benadryl, and my mom later told me that my 'ears had no folds in them'.  But I had come out alive-though my finger didn't go back to its normal size for about three days.  And lucky me I had joined the 3.5% of people who could die from the next mad bumble bee they encountered.