*fist pump*
I have just received my first sting of 2012. There are several ways of looking at this event:
Version One: That’s right, a noble bee has already sacrificed herself to start building up my immunity to formic acid, and it’s only the second day of April! I feel so privileged.
Version Two: I really need to get a tan. I wasn’t even inspecting the hive, just innocently sitting next to it watching the heavy-laden bees miss the landing board and smelling the rich perfume of pheromones and curing honey. Evidently, I’m so white that the noble bee mistook me for her hive and flew into my hair. She got herself tangled up in it and decided ritual suicide was the only way of preserving her dignity: the kids at the playground would never let her live *this* one down.
Version Three: She was trying to earn a Darwin award. And really, she deserves one for not realizing that she was already out of the gene pool. In this heavy nectar flow, the queen is definitely going to outlive her, so she’s not going to be laying any eggs any time soon.
Version Four: The baking soda paste my mother dextrously adhered to my hair is drying out and starting to crumble on the keyboard, so, sadly, version four will never be created. Excuse me while I track down some Advil and wash this crud out of my hair…
