This past weekend I was stung by a bee. In my 30 years of life, I have never been stung by any sort of winged-creature. The moment it happened, I grabbed my foot and fell hard to the ground. I screamed out in agony, alerting my boyfriend Joshua of what had just occurred. I sat, rocking back and forth, on the cool green grass. My body began to sweat as I began yelling at Josh to help me. He went inside to get the tweezers and, which seemed like hours, came running back, now in full nurse-mode.
When he finally returned, he smiled at me (he maybe even let out a small chuckle), and slowly began to approach the stinger that was protruding from my swollen toe. I took a deep breath and started doing something that could have resembled lemaze breathing. Joshua laughed and within seconds, the stinger was out. He saved my life!
I rolled onto my back and looked up at the sky, still breathing heavily, now feeling an uncomfortable throbbing in my toe. Joshua looked at me, smiled again, and shook his head. I started to giggle, which immediately turned into an uncontrollable roar of laughter and an eventual returned smile to my man.
My first bee sting reminded me of the fact that I have an amazing partner, who, whether it be a tiny insect bite or something much much worse, will always be there to take care of me.
How sweet the sting!
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