i had to spend the next six weeks in lip rehab with this kid named oscar who got stung by a bee - right on the lip

Rob's car has air conditioning. Unfortunately, it doesn't work, and since we drove HIS car to Spokane this weekend (my Pepe has a light on that indicates "DO NOT DRIVE ME LONG DISTANCES," or we'd have taken him), we had all the windows down most of the way there and back. Because summer has arrived like a huge drunken man in the West, sunburnt and slurring the days together into a hot miasma of WHY DON'T WE HAVE A/C?

I was flying my hand out the window, thinking "I am glad that I haven't outgrown this, what fun!" I was surprised that I hadn't outgrown it, but didn't realize it was still in me, because I am so rarely at highway speeds with the windows down. In that scenario there's a massive breeze, I have long hair, and the two don't mix over-well. Plus, the A/C in my car works, so massive breezes are not needed to cool anything.

However, at 100 degrees, massive breezes cool nothing. NOTHING.

Flying my hand, tolerating the hot wind, and all of the sudden there is a sharp pain in my finger. I had bitch-slapped a bumblebee. At highway speeds. It felt awesome.

As the bee smeared helpless across my hand, I flung the carcass to the floor and wiped the juice off and examined my stung ring finger. You know how you are supposed to flick a stinger out with a flat edge, rather than pull it out with tweezers? Squeezing the end with a pair of tweezers pushes more venom out into your flesh. Flicking it does not.

Both options require that the entirety of the stinger not be embedded 1/8-inch into the middle pad of your finger. There's got to be something to flick/tweeze, and I had nothing. Didn't even have a needle to dig it out like a splinter. And then it started to really throb - not enough to bring tears to my eyes, but enough to make me think that I prefer my hand to remain stinger-free most of the time. Including this time. Right this very second.

We pulled over and Rob grabbed the only sharp thing we had in the car: a razor blade, attached to his new mini-cutting tool. After performing minor surgery on myself (unaided, undrugged... I am TOUGH!), I was feeling much better, and I assured Rob that I'd make some clear sign, like punch him, if it turned out that I am allergic to bees after twenty-five unstung years.

I'm not. But now my ring is stuck on my finger because I didn't think to take it off pre-swelling, and using baby oil and dish soap last night just hurt like the dickens. Well, the oil and soap didn't, but my tugging and pushing and prying was uncomfy, because if I was going to get that ring off, by golly, it was going to TAKE MY FINGER WITH IT.

I'm going to be stepping careful for a while, because at the rate I'm going, that dust bunny in the corner is going to have me for lunch.