Friday, September 14, 2007

bee in my bottom

A couple of weeks ago, Dylan and I were coming into the house after getting the mail, when he stopped, screwed up his face, and began to yell. "My underwear hurts!" he howled, dancing around and pulling at the seat of his pants. I was confused for a second. "It still hurts!" he cried, still gyrating. I whipped off his pants as he continued hopping, and saw five red welts on his cute little tushie. I looked over to his pants, now in a pile on the floor, for the culprit. I touched them cautiously. After a second, a nasty little yellowjacket came crawling over the zipper, obviously unable to fly. I"took care of" the bee, and tended to Dylan, who had gone into the bathroom, determined to remain inside until I could bring him the severed head of his assailant.
Soon enough, all was well. Dylan spent about 30 minutes on his tummy on the sofa, pants off, watching "Diego" with a paper towel saturated with apple cider vinegar affixed to his bum (great home remedy--draws out the poison). By the end of the day, he was riding his bike, ready to face the world again.

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