The Art of Water War

I have never been stung by a bee. I intend to keep it that way. Its seems improbable, I know, considering my last blog, and where I live. But I have faith and a prayer. Prayer has worked before, such as when I worked for  a medical records office and I prayed that I would not get a paper cut, I walked away 4 months later without one!

Fast forward to today. My boss and his family are away at a family funeral leaving the ranch in my capable hands. So after checking on our 3 week international group I decided to FINALLY try out the ranch pool.

As a child, swimming and summer were synonymous, we went to a rural community pool every day for hours. Then, my family moved into a house that happened to have a pool, and my parents had a “you swim/you clean it’ rule.” In the logical mind of Miriam all that additional work=not worth it, as it turned out it ended up being “clean it anyway;” but that is another story. Even growing into an adult the promise of green hair, sunburn possibility and bloodshot eyes typically outweigh any imagined fun so pool swimming gets pushed aside.    

I needed some adventure today so I dug out my thrice used swimsuit from my Hawaii bag; blew up pool float and grabbed a magazine, and one of my current reads, The Art of War. Little did I know that it would be just so.

Taken just before the fateful swim.

I drive down to the pool, spying things that didn’t get done properly all the way there. But, I have to turn off the work, it’s after 8 after all and I’m going swimming!  I get my towel arranged carefully where the least amount of bugs have opportunity to hide in its folds and dip my toe in. It’s warmer than expected and I laughed as my worries about entering an arctic swimming hole float away.

I launch the mesh float and hop on deciding to start with some easy reading, the “evangel” magazine given to me during one of my church visits this morning.

 

Paragraph 3, zwishzzzzz. Incoming flying bug. I swat towards the perceived fly with my magazine. Before I could even find my place again , zzzzwishzzzzzzzzzzzz, zzzzzzzzwishzzzzzzzz.  Red Alert, this is NOT a fly, this is not a drill, this is a bee. 

I swat towards the sound and it dissipates. I settle in again, find my place, and continue reading. Crisis averted. 

Paragraph 4.5 the bee LANDS on my hand. Needless to say the magazine was sacrificed to the water logged cause of no stings. From beneath the surface of the water I made a quick decision, swim away! I figured the meandering bee would move on with me on the opposite end of the pool wielding a soggy magazine in my arsenal. False, he came back with a little friend. Apparently my hair smelled like sweet nectar.  

A ten minute battle ensued which entailed me coming up for air under my mesh float, the bees attacking the float, seconds passing without movement,  me believing the coast to be clear and making a break for my towel then a renewed attack on all sides from Bee 1 and Bee 2, then the vicious cycle beginning again. 

Finally, I flipped my float and smashed one into the water. Outsmarted and perhaps fearing for its life the other bee fled.  Just in time for me to get a call about a frozen air conditioner. Swim time over.

I will probably finish The Art Of War before I choose to go swimming again.