I think I have just been stung by a bee. I'm not sure, because I've never been stung before. But there are these bumblebees living under our front step, and they never used to bother us, but this makes twice in a week that they have acted aggressively. I don't think they like loud buzzing sounds, because the first time one bothered me was when I was using the Leatherneck's jigsaw to cut tomato stakes (that's the problem with working third-shift: your vegetables sometimes become vampiric). And just now, our landlady was using the trimmer to trim the hedges of many small villages, er, I mean to trim by the sidewalk. And I was outside saying goodbye to Cowboy as he prepared to bike off into the sunset, and something landed on my arm. I don't have my contacts in yet, so I thought it was a fly and brushed it off before I really thought about it. And it was a bee, and it flew back at me making angry noises and I said, "Cowboy! Cowboy I'm under attack! Mayday!" and it flew at my face and stung me on the cheek. At least, my cheek began to sting, but not very much. Not nearly as much as I'd imagined for 26 years. So I said, sounding very surprised, "I think I've just been stung!" and ran back inside.
It's not swelling up, although it's a little bit red and now feels just kind of hot. So the good news is that if I did get stung, it seems I'm not allergic to them like some of my familial types are.
But I think something needs to be done about those bees under our front step. I shall have to consult Mr. O'Hara.