Hit in the Mouth

Jul 14 2010

“That wasp just attacked me and stung me in the mouth,” I lamented to my two friends who previously were laughing at the thing to which I had just reacted so largely.

I finished volleyball minutes earlier after 4 big losses in a row and, already moping around a bit from an epic beating, I bowed low to get into my cellar in an effort to turn on the hose to wash our feet off before we entered the Holman household. With the water turned on and mission accomplished, Bramlett, the left handed wannabee golfer, and Dagget, the wiry 3 languaged nightmare, took turns ribbing me about losing so many volleyball games.

We washed our feet. I could have washed theirs in an amazing display of Christ-like humility via John 13, but I chose to turn the rays of my flashlight in the middle of their eyes instead. I have much to learn.

When we were done with the water, I crawled back down the cellar, turned the water off, all the while listening to their continued teasing about my athletic decent into Hades. As I moved to the top of the cemented Cellar steps, a wasp, evidently very angry at something I’d done, attacked me, allowing absolutely no time for reaction. It immediately hit the lower left side of my lip, and I immediately cried out in pain, holding on to my mouth like Steve Jobs holding on to his reputation.

As could be expected, Brams and Daggett continued their laughing as I grunted a pain-filled roar, at least until I mentioned how bad it hurt, then they stopped, and I could get on with feeling bad for myself.

It took only about 5 minutes for my mouth to resemble Will Smith’s from the movie “Hitch”, but it looked ugly, and I learned a valuable lesson that evening:

If you don’t play beach volleyball on Monday nights, then you probably won’t need to go down to the cellar for the water hose, which means you probably won’t get attacked by a wasp.

Capiche?