Baby Bees

I've only been stung by a bee twice, and both times, I sat on the bee.

The first time, I was in high school, got out of the shower and sat down on the edge of my bed. At the time, colors like avocado, orange and gold were in fashion, and my floral bedspread completely hid the small body of a bee waiting there for me to sit on it. Since I'd been doing sewing recently, I thought I'd accidentally left a stray needle in the bed. It hurt. Bad. Poor bee.

This afternoon I was over at the swimming pool, spread my beach towels out on the lounge chair and settled in to relax and sunbathe, when suddenly, I felt like I had been poked in the shoulder with a sharp knife. I couldn't imagine what could inflict that much sudden pain. I got up, shook out the towel, and there it was, the struggling carcass of a tiny baby bee, which clearly had not been able to withstand my body come down in a crushing blow on its little stinger. I felt bad for the bee, truly. But this really really hurts.

Poor bees. Poor me.