I've had two near death experiences this week and I think that's plenty.
Okay, the first one didn't happen to me per se, but it happened to my Pooky Head, and since I gave birth to Pooky Head and he is in fact, the fruit of my looms, it's almost like it happened to me.
Plus, I'll remember it and he won't.
And by the way, if you're on Facebook a lot you've already heard both, so don't feel obligated to read this. It's not like I'll know if you leave here and play Mind Sweeper instead. This applies to people who SAY they aren't on Facebook but actually ARE on Facebook because they know my password and like to lurk and make fun of my friends. I'm not petty enough to name names but it rhymes with Smichael K. Smilliams.
But back to The Story:
Packed a lovely picnic lunch for myself and the kiddos and hit the park. Said park has a wonderful wooden castle structure. Had barely set down the food when a friendly gramma type hollered over the swings to me,
'Hey, tell your kids to watch out, there're alot of bees out today!'
You guessed. I haven't even opened my mouth when I hear Gianni shrieking and Cora shouting,
'Run, Gianni! RUN!'
He was SWARMED.
The flashbacks I was getting of poor little Macauley Culkin in My Girl were not helping me.
No one has heard or seen anything of Macauley in years.
I think the bees really did kill him.
The bees were under his shirt and in his underwear.
It was awful. He had about 20 welts by the time I wrestled him down and stripped him. I cuddled my little nekked guy for as long as I could and then we hightailed it to Walgreens where I force fed him Benedryl.
He kept crying out "I don't wanna play hide and seek!" and "I wanna go to a DIFFERENT park next time!" in between sobs.
Cool as the castle park is, I doubt we'll ever go back...
Anyway, it's nutty that as allergic as Gianni-Be-Good is to things, bee stings aren't one of them. He's fine now. 'Cept for the nightmare last night that the bees were back and in his bed.
I let him sleep with me. I'm heartless at 4 a.m. but no one is that heartless.
Story #2 simply involves me following up on a dresser for sale on craigslist.
Dresser man and I were texting. He couldn't get a photo to come through on my phone. Evidently my phone is programmed to receive photos of my nephew Buck and Buck only. Anyhoo, me being the genius that I am, I hop in my car without telling a soul where I am going or that I am even craigslist shopping or anything.
The house, when I find it, is ... in need of some TLC.
Craigslist would call it a "handy man's dream!" or "a real fixer upper opportunity!"
I debated not stopping.
But the idea of the world's best dresser pulls me in like Mafia ties. I have to risk it!
Odd man meets me in looooooong drive way. Informs me that the dresser is out yonder. Past the cars and trucks and by the barn.
Let me just speed dial 911 inconspicuously here while searching in my purse for the pepper spray I do not own.
Needless to say, as I am here and blogging, Odd Fellow didn't chop me up and bury me under the floorboards in his barn. Or stuff me in the dresser.
And most importantly,
THE DRESSER WAS TOTALLY WORTH IT.