It would be quite fair to say that I didn't wake up on the clever side of bed yesterday. I successfully shrunk some of my husband's t-shirts (guess I'm still re-learning how to use a dryer), nearly mooned a batch of shirtless boys in the car next to mine at the car wash when I accidentally vacuumed up my skirt with the industrial-powered hose (twice), felt hood-winked when I put a $20 in the change machine and got a pile of fake-looking $1 gold coins with Mr. Washington's face on them in return (how was I supposed to know they came out with new money while I was out of the country?), sat on my new sunglasses (there's a reason I refuse to buy expensive eyewear), and perhaps my most glowing achievement of the day, got stung by a bee.
$1 George Washington coins
Can any of you, my lovely readers, even remember the last time you got stung by a bee? I feel old admitting it, but it's been easily 15 years since I last experienced the excruciating pain brought on by a feisty, angry bee. This bee nearly became my lunch. It stung me less than an inch below my lip, after successfully dive-bombing Matt and I as we stood near our car during his lunch break. Maybe it was one of those sad little bees that can't make its way back to the mother hive and it took out its fury on me. Regardless, it was one angry little bee.
Honestly, once I got over the pain (which was surprisingly intense), it didn't seem like such a big deal. There wasn't much swelling and the pain eventually subsided. It kind of just felt like I'd been to the dentist and was recovering from a shot of numbing Novocain.
I woke up 4am this morning (I think because my husband was giggling in his sleep) to discover that my face had swollen considerably during the night and, except for the part near the sting that was itching like mad, I could no longer feel the lower half of the right side of my face. I (groggily) panicked, went straight to the kitchen pantry and mixed up a hearty slop of baking soda and water, and turned on the computer to consult Dr Google. Was this normal? Would I have to rush to a Mexican hospital in the middle of the night to go to the emergency room? (It's a long story, but in a funny turn of events, Matt and I have full health insurance coverage for every country in the world except for the USA--we think it might be a blessing in disguise that we just moved to a city within 20 minutes from the Mexican border.) Would my face stay like this forever?!?
No, of course not. I'm sure I'll be fine in a few days. Apparently bee stings swell the most around the eye and mouth area, and when stung, the stingee should immediately brush the stinger off the skin to ensure minimal swelling. Had I known this I would've done so, but I just stared crazily at the stinger protruding from my chin for about 45 seconds or so before making Matt pull it out. So I'm stuck like this for a few days (or until, according to Dr Google, my body develops the antigens to fight the bee venom). Hopefully I won't get called in for a job interview in the next few days.
I feel quite justified knowing my feisty little friend is dead now.