Tuesday, August 14, 2007

Jenna-0, Bee-1

After hoisting our neighbor's magnanimously huge ladder up to the side of our house and getting it safely adjusted (after wedging one leg up on a wooden block--that's safe, right?), I intrepidly began to climb. I had a snow brush/ice scraper in one hand and a can of cheap-o bee spray in the other. I started banging around in the formerly bee-infested eave (we've been spraying it for 3 days now) and low and behold about 5 bees flew out. One stung me on my elbow--which I had instinctively raised in front of my face while squealing like a girl.

Now, you must know, my mother is deathly allergic to bees. She has to carry an Epi-pen bee sting kit with her at all times and administer a shot within 20 minutes of her sting in order for her throat not to close and suffocate her. I have wondered my whole life whether or not I would have to do the same.

Back to my stinging story. I checked my arm to make sure the bee and stinger weren't lodged in my arm, then my adrenaline kicked in. I decided that even if I only had 20 minutes left to live, at least I'd make sure the bees nest was taken care of. I ran inside the house, found some Children's Benadryl in the medicine cabinet and took a way-too-huge swig.

I decided that if I was gonna take one for the team, at least I'd finish the game and come out the winner. With the clock ticking, I went back outside to the ladder, and armed with Dan's bike flashlight in my mouth and his wooden hockey stick, I wreaked havoc on the bees nests. There were two bee nests each the size of salad plates that I scraped out of the eaves, picked up with tongs and tied up in plastic bags, then deposited in the garbage can. I climbed the ladder once more, sprayed the area again, then climbed down the ladder to find someone to tell about my fatal sting when I realized I was breathing just fine, a little tingly from the adrenaline (and Benadryl), but not headed for the grave just yet.

And now I understand why Dan dances, screams, and shouts when he gets a sting, and why they are called a sting, those things HURT! But at least there are a few hundred less bees in our neighborhood.

3 comments:

Jean said...

I don't know Jenna... I think if I was a bee and saw a squealing, Benadryl laced woman armed with a hockey stick coming to attack my home, I would flee and admit defeat...

brooke sellers said...

Haha! I a great story and a great RETELLING of the story. You go girl!

Cheeky said...

I forgot to mention that I was also carrying a pad of paper and markers so I could draw the cameo of the bee as it was stinging me.

Jean--I'm thinking of starting a business--people can pay me to drink Benadryl and carry the hockey stick to rid their homes of bees. Kind of like a tribal anti-bee dance.

Brooke--I love to tell stories. I can only imagine what my neighbor, Joan, across the street was thinking as she was sitting on her porch "reading the newspaper" (really, holding it up and spying at everyone over the top of it) while this scenario unfolded.