i kid you not

so i'm here, at a kid's bday party, managed to rustle up a laptop, and i've got to tell you this.

i was pulling my usual antisocial behavior.

showing up late to the party, sitting in the livingroom, reading with my mp3 player on, and finally the hostess convinces me (actually, it was my girl), to venture outside. to brave the wilds (you'd think i never went outside), but when i'm in an indoor mood, i like to stay indoors.

so, out i go.

i take a seat in the hot sunshiney, and feign interest in the conversation. but it gets to be too much to me, and i retrieve my books (always my failsafe).

so, everyone gets up to go inside for things going on (and i lag behind). the lady i'm walking in with says,

i don't like crowds.

and i say,

neither do i.

so we stand outside talking. on the steps just on the other side of the sliding glass doors, so we're not out of eyeshot when everyone reappears from the basement, but we're still out of obligatory chat proximity.

i am even interested in what she's saying when suddenly i feel a pinprick on my derrier.

then another.

i had been sitting by the garden with my legs up, my habitual, comfortable pose. feet propped up on something, bare of foot. always.

well, this inquisitive little wasp thought i was some breed of lily never explored and takes it upon himself to venture in.

and up. when i stood.

i start feeling prick after prick on my hind parts, and decide, i must figure out what is going on. i realize (i mean, come on, how many stings does it take to figure out you've got a wasp in your pants?)

i dash up the stairs and say,

i have to go inside.

and i blow past the lady and into the restroom, remove my capris and find, mr. striped butt crawling around inside.

i turn my thonged hind to the mirror and discover several, not just one, not just two, somewhere in the neighborhood of five to seven stings on my butt.

and i flush him.

what else could i do with him, really? i had to put my pants back on.

and when i came out, i finally got my friend's attention and self medicated with a shot of benadryl (after calling my husband and hearing him laugh as i explain the situation), he is my pharmacist. i never know how much of what to take.

some consideration was given to using the discarded pint size ziploc to ice the area, but it was decided more coverage was needed to adequately ice the bitepattern and a gallon bag was produced.

the children and adults were much amused by my shoving a gallon bag of ice down my pants and leaving it there.

a pot of coffee is made to counteract the sleepiness of the benadryl, and then, when my buns started getting numb, i laid off the ice for a while.

i'm not sure if i saw stingers, i've never been stung before. but i did see red areas and i have a smidge of discomfort.

truly, i do not invite these woes to have something to write about. it just happens.

i can't figure out what, if anything, the meaning of this latest exchange could be. everything has to have meaning in my life. but i'll let you know if i ever figure this out.