Wyatt was stung by a bee (unfortunately, he’s allergic).
The last time I was stung was in 1983, well, until last spring. We decided to do some exploring, and drive around the county on the country roads. It was maybe 75 and the windows were down (have I mentioned that not once have I used the car AC since we moved here?)
My right leg — specifically, the top of my thigh — itched, so I put my hand down to scratch it, and yow! I got a hot nail in my thumb. I looked down, and there was a squished bumble-ee-bee.
I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anybody being stung by a bumblebee. I like bumblebees (actually, I like bees — but I hate, and take great delight in killing — wasps). We were in the boonies so I just pulled over and looked, but didn’t find a stinger, so I pulled back onto the road, sucking my thumb till the pain subsided.
About thirty minutes or so later, my leg itched again, and again, I put my hand down — and I’ll be damned if I didn’t accidentally squish, and get stung by, a second bumblebee. In the same place.
By the way, it’s no more painful than a honey bee sting. Maybe less.
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I wrote “bumblebee,” but it could have been a wasp. I never saw the flying bastard. Hurt like Hell, and 12 hours later, it still hurts a little. Damn.