When I was 8 (or so) a neighbor girl came over to play. This was a relatively rare occurrence because we didn't really live in a neighborhood. We lived in the boonies and to get to our house you had to either cross through an incredibly large field or go through the woods.
When it was time for her to go home I asked my father if I could walk her. He was fine but told me not to go past the woods...I did. There was a small path that went through the woods to the field that was behind her home. Of course, on my way back I couldn't find the path and had to cross through the woods.
I started crossing through the woods and all of a sudden I was getting stung OVER AND OVER AND OVER again. My parents had always told me that if you don't bother bees they won't bother you so I stood VERY, VERY, VERY still (I remember thinking about the Statue of Liberty). I could hear Dana looking for me (she was probably 4 at the time) and I kept yelling at her to go back to the house...she was crying and wanted me to come out.
Next thing I know I am being grabbed under both arms by my father and Roger (the guy who worked for him) who started running with me back to the house as fast as they could - they had seen a SWARM of hornet's over the bushes and heard me screaming.
I had stepped on a hornet's nest. I had no idea. All I knew was that I was getting stung and I had to stand still so I didn't bother them. Of course, standing on top of their home, crushing the life out of their family...I was bothering them.
A dozen or more stings, one trip to the ER, a shot to help stop an allergic reaction, lots of vomiting, a teddy bear and a grocery store trip later and I was fine (although my mother made salmon pie that night for dinner with canned salmon - the Bumble Bee kind - I thought that was rather ironic and harsh - I will NEVER eat canned salmon again).
My father got his revenge that evening by setting the nest on fire. I guess the bushes went up in flames as well...he claims that he is lucky the neighbors didn't have to call the fire department.
Monica jokes that I stepped in a hornet's nest at age 8 and never really got out...such is my life.
I am the one in my family that will lose a child at a graduation (because he WANTED the mugs in the school store that cost $16 and I told him no). I am the one whose car will break down in Baltimore, MD on a 4 lane highway (in the middle lane) during a spur of the moment trip to DC. It is me that will make 13 trips to the ER each year with a child that burned his fingers on peanut butter or a husband that burned his corneas because he didn't wear a mask while welding... THIS IS MY LIFE.
So it shouldn't be surprising that while pet sitting two parrots the screen door somehow locks behind me, my keys hanging from the door knob, the emergency phone numbers sitting on the counter, needing to be in Rochester in 30 minutes (being over an hour away), with two kids in tow and Kirby over 90 minutes away. I shouldn't have been surprised at all...but I was.
What to do? Well, I call Kirby (not for a fix, really, but for an ear for me to scream "WTF AM I SUPPOSE TO DO HERE" type thing) - he wants to tell me all the reasons why he can't help, "It'll take me over an hour and half to get there...I don't know what to tell you..." - I hung up on him.
I have to be in Rochester for Tom's graduation party... Andrew stinks to high heaven... Zachary keeps saying, "I am SO furryous". I say, "you mean FURIOUS".."yeah, furryous"... I have checked EVERY window, EVERY door, I tried prying the screen open, screaming, kicking - nothing worked.
So I cut the screen. What else was I going to do? I didn't have a choice. I cut the freaking screen.
Now, the $16/visit that she is paying me is going to go right back to her...to fix that stinking screen.
I never did get out of that hornet's nest...