Things Come in Threes

I woke Saturday morning with a jolt, not because of the usual beep of my alarm clock, but because, upon looking at my cell phone for the time, I realized that my alarm had not, in fact been set, and that I was running twenty minutes late. I jumped out of bed, put on my crappy pants, my crappy shoes, and a crappy shirt and sweatshirt, and bolted out the door.

Where, you may be wondering, was I going in such a rush? Not to work. Heavens no. It was a Saturday, after all. No, I was off to do a service project. I loved doing service for other people, and I'd missed the last three projects, but I wasn't going to miss this one, no sir.

I drove out of my apartment complex and onto 100th, only to realize seconds later that I didn't have my directions in my purse. About face! I retrieved my directions and was off again. This time I was able to make it to my destination just fine, but my gas light did come on once or twice.

Upon arriving to the place where the service project was to be held, I greeted my friends, put on my gloves, and got to work. I began by clearing branches that had been cut from a spruce tree and put them into a trailer. Then, when all branches had been cleared, I located a rake and began raking out the leaves and brush and weeds that were underneath the tree. Suddenly, I felt an odd, pricking sensation just above my right hip bone. "Oh," I thought. "There must be a pine needle stuck in my shirt." So, I lifted my sweatshirt, and looked around for the needle, but I couldn't find it. Even as I searched, the stinging sensation grew.

Cautiously, I lifted the edge of my shirt, and there, small, yellow, and monstrous was a winged foe...whether it was bee, wasp, or hornet, I am unsure. Whatever it was, it was causing me curious amounts of discomfort, and I brushed it away feeling a little bemused. I'd never been stung by anything before, so I stood there, waiting to see what sort of effect it would have on me.

The sensation was not pleasant. It stung, and the skin around the bite swelled into a welt, and turned red in a circle that was at least two inches across. "How odd," I thought, and I got back to work. Within minutes, however, the sensation was back again, this time a little higher up on my waist. I lifted my shirt higher, and found yet another winged beastie taking the mickey out of my skin. I brushed it away, and then, feeling a little distressed, I walked as slowly and calmly as possible to my car, whimpering as I walked, and when I was safely out of the eyesight of my fellow service project-ers, I took off my shirts. Low and behold, there were three more wasp things in my shirt, just waiting to get me. So, I did the inhumane thing, and squished them.

I went back to the service project, after calling my mother distressedly for advice on how to fix the pain. I took some ibuprofen, and got to work, making sure to stay clear of the spruce tree. A couple hours later, after I had successfully helped to pack many bags full of leaves, branches, and unwanted plant life, I looked back at the spruce tree. Things still needed to be done. I saw a friend of mine working over there, and I decided to stop being a coward and go help him out. So, I did. And I was getting quite a bit done. I did warn my friend, though, that if I saw a bee I might have to behave like a five-year-old and run away screaming.

I never got the chance.

Ha! It's not what you think. You're probably thinking, oh good...she didn't see any more bees. Wonderful.

Peachy, I know.

If only it were true.

I never saw the bee, mostly because it was on the back of my cranium. And, yes, it stung me. A friend pulled the bee out of my hair, after I had personally smashed most of it into my head.

So, at the end of the day, I left dirty, and stung. Not once. Not twice. But, thrice.

Things come in threes, do they not?