My name is Tom Clempson, I am 31 years old and today was my very first sting.
Frickin’ wasps! What gives? We had a deal! I teach others not to panic in your presence, how to calmly escort you from thr premises instead of screaming like a loon and twatting you with a magazine, and so far our peace treaty has been a success. So what the hell happened today?! All I did was walk under a tree, and one of your rookie little twats decides to sting the crap out of my arm! I didn’t call him any names, make derogatory comments about his mother, or even stuff him up my T-shirt and jump around the place like a crazy person. I just walked under a tree! Have you not told him about our agreement? Did he not get the memo? Okay, so he probably got scared by the sleeve of my T-shirt and just panicked, but really, this is not acceptable. I felt the sting, I looked down, he was hanging from my arm by his butt, and I calmly blew him away (with air from my mouth, not a shotgun, that would have just been silly). I watched him fall to the ground and I could have stomped him then and there, but I didn’t. Luckily for him there was one thing on his side…
The general public have grossly over-exaggerated the pain of a wasp sting! General public! What gives? There I was, with a wasp’s butt dangling from my arm and I’m thingking ‘what should I do? Should I go see a pharmacist right away? Should I apply a tourniquet? Am I going to need medical assistance?!’ I actually sucked the venom out I was so worried (or maybe that’s why it didn’t really hurt?). Okay, so it did feel like I was having a blood test for about 20 minutes after the incident (another thing that is made out to be 100 times more painful than it actually is) and a section of my arm, in a one inch radius of the sting, did swell up quite a lot (luckily I don’t share my mum’s horrible allergic reaction) and now, ten hours later, it feels like I have a splinter or something. But really, it’s not much more painful than stinging nettles, which I would knowingly wade through as a child (as long as there was a really cool rope swing on the other side).
Still, wasps, that does not excuse what you, as a species, have done to my arm, as an… arm. I could have killed your renegade soldier, but I didn’t. I stuck to the terms of our aliance. you did not.
You have seriously gone in my bad books. Bees, however, remain in my good books. I have still never been stung by one of them, and I’ve leant on one of them, I picked one up and half squashed it in my pile of laundry! And you guys don’t even make honey!!! Bees clearly have respect for the code of our aliance. You do not. Consider this a warning. Cross me once more, and I promise you, there will be blood. Wasp blood. On my shoe. Tell your trigger happy butt-plungers to lay down their stings, or believe me, I will go all Bush/Blair on your asses and an all-out war will be declared, of which there will be no end and no winner. But wasps… will… die.
On a completely different note, we had a joint birthday party picnic in the park for my kids today (age 1 and 3), which was really rather pleasant! (but I won’t go on about that because my Laura lady wife lady has taken care of that on her Cupcakes for Clara blog).
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