Minding my own business...

Yesterday I got a phone call at lunch "Your rear drivers tire is flat" ... Crap. Can I come for lunch with you guys?

Well after work I totally forgot, drove down the hill, made it to the gas station and remembered... changed my mostly flat tire, got all hot, schweaty, and gross and got it up to the tire place to patch it. After hanging out with the nice neighbourly employees (they really were quite nice) I decided that I needed to go for a swim, despite the thunder and lightning warnings.

Fear not, this tale does not end with lightning, nor is there even any in it. Other than the previous warning about it ;o)

I do a lap through the mounting waves from the storm blowing up the valley around the swim area, and decide that I shouldn't dawdle as my core body temperature has been lowered to an acceptable level.

So there I am in my car sitting at a yield in a goofy triangular shaped intersection minding my own business when a large black blob seeming lands on my windshield... I passed it off as a chunk of ash from the Terrace Mountain fire... until it flew IN MY WINDOW!!! It was a medium size, mostly black, BUMBLEBEE!!! that if he were walking instead of flying would be waddling. He couldn't quite hover in one place and kept flying towards me!

So there I am, in a bikini top, with my right foot jammed on the brake, blowing at a bumblebee. Phhooooshh, phhhoooosshh, PPHHHHOOOOOSSHHHH!!! Now despite my efforts at not panicking and not blowing him into myself... HE LANDED ON MY BOOB!!! Now did I mention that all I am currently wearing is a BIKINI TOP!!!

(The extensive use of exclamation marks and caps is just how much the situation was stressing me out)

So there I am with a BEE ON MY BOOB, wearing nothing but a bikini top. And all I can think to whisper is "doooodde not my booooob" and to my horror I watched as he climbed down under my boob where I COULDN'T SEE HIM ANYMORE!!! The suspense is killing me, and I pray that nobody is behind me waiting for me to use the intersection because I *know* that if I get stung in the boob, I'm immediately going to stall my car, jump out and run around in circles like a dog chasing it's tail screaming like a little girl... and then I'm going to stop and swear like a trucker with tourettes.

Yes I am that person your mother warned you about. No you shouldn't take me home to meet your parents.

Without further ado however, as I'm fervently looking for any sign of "The Bee" I notice that he has somehow made it over to my seat back behind me! I lean forward as far as I can without having my boobs blow my horn... and he casually flies out the window as though his flower inspection is over and he found nothing of note in my little sparkly blue Honda.

~insert minor amounts of hyperventilation here~

Calmly I decrease the amount of pressure I'm using on the brake, double check that the car is in gear, check my rear view mirrors, and ease out into the intersection and back to driving home. Although my adrenalin is still high enough that I could outrun a Kenyan, I concentrate on slowing my breathing back to a normal rate, and not driving like I'm on speed. Because I'm sure if I got pulled over my pupils would be so dilated that the cop wouldn't believe that I wasn't on anything.

This episode of my life brought to you courtesy of the letter "Bee" and the word "Boob".