Bugs... I Hate Bugs...

...You know, like Indiana Jones and snakes? That's me with bugs. Snakes? No problem. They don't even have any legs. But bugs... who said six or eight legs was normal anyway?


So tonight I was making my way back from Manteca. My son had spent the weekend at grandma's, so we did the "meet you halfway" thing. I was running low on gas and pulled over to a gas station in Gustine, or thereabouts. And as I was pumping my gas, Something dropped out of nowhere right down my shirtfront and into my cleavage, beg your pardon. So I'm thinking, that's weird, what was that? I did a quick check and couldn't see anything. I did the little dance where you flap your shirttails and spin around. Nothing. Hmph. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was just some piece of trash and it fell out.


So I get back in my car and turn back onto Highway 5. You know Highway 5? Remote, godforsaken, nothing for miles Highway 5? And as I'm driving, I feel something creeping in my right sleeve...


Of course, I react. I reach over and grab my sleeve and there is definitely Something In There. I shudder. The car shudders. And suddenly I realize what a precarious situation I'm in.


Did I mention I was driving on Highway 5? Dangerous, reckless driver filled Highway 5?


And. There is Something. Alive. In My Clothing. With Me. And. I. Can't. Pull. Over.


And it's seven miles to the next turn off.


Seven. Miles.


There are moments in life where I'm quite proud of myself, and I believe I deserve some bragging rights here. I stay calm under pressure. It's what I do. Calm. I mean, I ask you, could YOU drive Seven Miles with Something Alive in Your Clothing with You?


So I grip the wheel with a kind of grim determination and try to ignore the slight burning sensation spreading out from the spot where I think IT may have bit me, and I'm running worst case senarios through my head, thinking, Okay, Black Widow, if IT is a Black Widow then I've got one hour to get to the hospital and get the antidote... How far is it to the nearest hospital? About one hour... Shit. Not good. Don't Panic. Don't Panic. No, IT can't be a Black Widow because Black Widows don't wait on the ceilings of gas stations and then drop on you... BUT Brown Recluses could. Shit. Maybe IT is a Brown Recluse. Oh. That would be Bad. Those are Very Bad Spiders. Might not kill me, but IT's bite is very poisonous and very painful... Shit. Don't panic. Can't be a Brown Recluse. IT can't be. If a Brown Recluse bit me I would be in severe pain. And I'm not in severe pain. Am I. Maybe I imagined the whole thing. Maybe I just imagi...


And then IT wiggled...


Nope. Didn't imagine IT. IT is still there...


All this for SEVEN MILES.


And I'm thinking. I Will NOT let this thing beat me. I am bigger than IT. I am smarter than IT. I refuse to let some Stupid BUG get the best of me. My name will not be associated with a 10 car pile up on Highway 5 because of a Creature that is 1/nth my body weight.


Finally, we get to Santa Nella and I pull over behind a gas station. I calmly (Calmly, I say) remove my seatbelt. And then I rip my shirt off.


My son, the wiseass, quips, "Well, that was hot." Oh, and did I mention, his 16-year-old best friend is also in the car with us. Ask me if I care. Modesty means nothing in the face of Something Alive In My Clothes With Me.


So I raise up my arm and I ask my son if he can see anything, any swelling on the back of my arm, and he says no...


Then I hear a buzzing coming from my lap... I look down and there crawling out of my shirt is...


A BEE.


A Bee. In November. A fucking BEE. In My Shirt. With Me. For Seven Miles.


We dove out of the car. I felt along my upper arm, and sure enough, right at the crease near the pit was a small protrusion. This was where I really lost it, I'm sorry to say. I just couldn't bring myself to pull out the stinger myself. Oh, but this is me, remember. Me losing it is putting my head down on my arm and taking deep breaths while saying to my son, "I really can't handle this. Please take the stinger out." And he did.


Next quest: Capture the Bee. IT was still in the car. Fortunately, IT had decided to make friends with the dome light, so capturing it was a simple matter of popping a Starbucks cup over the top of IT and throwing IT, cup and all, into the trash.


My son says, "Good thing you're not allergic to bees."


And I says, "I AM allergic to bees."


But not the deathly, stop breathing and go into convulsions kind of allergic. I'm just sensitive. I swell up like a balloon. The last time I was stung by a bee, I lost the use of my entire arm. But that was when I was a child. I haven't been stung by a bee in years. WTF? What was a BEE doing lurking around a gas station at night in the middle of November?


Maybe I shouldn't have thrown that cup away.


Maybe IT was an African bee.


Maybe I'm going to die after all.


Is my right arm tingling? Is it going numb?


It's going to be a long night...