Yesterday, Steve and I bought a volleyball. We walked a long way to find our volleyball. The closest sports store to us was probably...oh...like 3 miles away at a Big 5 Sports something or other. But we really wanted a volleyball. I mean we REALLY wanted one. Steve's been teaching me how to play Ultimate Frisbee - no I mean like REALLY play (he's practically professional...he would be professional should there be a professional league where other professional frisbee enthusiasts could play...and Steve would play...professionally) - and although I'm a willing (and frustrating..ed) pupil, we decided it was time to mix up our daily exercise routine. VOLLEYBALL!
Today we took our volleyball out to practice. There is a little French School 2 blocks from our house that sports a large (soggy) grassy field in which soccer, frisbee, and other "running about" sports are easily enjoyed. There's also a sand volleyball court. Until today it was just standing there in mockery of the sport we couldn't play. And although we now HAVE a volleyball to really show that court who is boss, there are only two of us. It doesn't make for particularly intense playing, but we try and take things one step at a time.
After playing on the sand for awhile - we (I) decided it was time to move to the grass. The sand was frustrating me. So we moved our pepper game to the grass and started to volleyball about. My skills were starting to find their groove again just when a bump glanced off my left forearm a little more than my right forearm and caused Steve to dive for it. When the volleyball had hit me I felt a shocking, stinging pain in my wrist and glanced down to see a wasp securely attached to my wrist with his mean little stinger snugly inserted into my arm!
Yes...I said it. I didn't mean to! Weirdly, it's the first word that came to mind. I think it scared me as much as hurt me. It was creepy seeing that little wasp suddenly implanted into my arm. Oddly enough I brushed it away gently - ya know so's not to hurt the little beggar further - and looked at Steve with shock on my face and tears in my eyes.
"It stung me! A bee Steve! A bee! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!"
(okay okay...so it's the red dot towards the top of the pic...there's shade so it's hard to see the swelling and redness...and you can't capture sting pain in a picture! Don't snicker! It may be small but it burned!)
Steve's face faintly hinted of a slight awkwardness at hearing my slippery "sh" word thinking I said it because of my bad pass. Ah ha. No Steven! Bad passes do not justify an "sh" word! I use my "sh" words in much more provocative and serious situations: ie driving on the freeway with idiots. That's a great time for "sh" words...that and bee stings!
So I run to Steven holding out my arm in a "fix it!" kind of panic still screaming "Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! It hurts!" I'd not had a sting since...well probably some childhood moment when I stepped on a bee. Remember doing that? I didn't! Steve's response was "haven't you ever had a bee sting before?"
Well maybe I had but I didn't remember it stinging so bad! Sheesh! He also asked to make sure I wouldn't have any sort of allergic reaction. "Luckily" I knew I had been stung before and I had not reacted poorly to that - but geez it still hurt! Our volleyball "game" was at an end. How very sad. Instead Steve, me, and the sting came back to the house and put ice on it. I can't describe the almost immediate relief the ice bag upon my sting brought. It was amazing! Now, almost 6 hours later the pain is very dull and only acts up once in awhile. I still can't believe I was stung by a bee. I also can't believe that a bee sting is the most exciting thing I can think of to post about after 3 weeks in San Francisco. Does that make sense to anyone? Don't worry folks - we've got plans - big plans! We're going to take pictures of those plans too so just wait for it! For now, however, you get bee sting stories. Ow! Ow! Ow!