An Afternoon Of Small Panics:
First, in a complete freak accident, a wasp flew into my hand as I was walking down the stone steps to the garden, and in the force of the collision, it’s stinger and back end buried into the knuckle of my middle finger, and completely separated from the rest of it’s body, effectively pumping me FULL of it’s venom before I realized what had happened, looked down, and had to rip it out of me.
And as I ran to the sink to start washing, icing, and medicating it, looked down and realized that my anchor ring, a gift from someone very dear and one of my most prized possessions, was gone.
After the screaming, swearing, yowling, and general ruckus involved with making sure I wasn’t going to pass out and die (extremely sensitive to bug toxins), I spent the next two hours crawling around on my hands and knees on the lawn, looking for the ring.
Just as I was about to give up the search, call it M.I.A, and go call the person who gave it to me in frustrated, blubbering tears, I happened to re-trace my steps pre-sting, and in the base of the barbecue— and do NOT ask me how it got there— found the ring resting gently on a pile of ashes.
My middle finger, knuckle, and half my left hand are red, angry, and swollen to more than double their normal size; I’m reconsidering that finger-tat; but all in all, afternoon saved.