That Hurt

In spite of the sad mouth, this could look worse: I cropped off the saggy neck.

My Saturday wasn't all sunshine and roses, in spite of the cousins and the brotherly love that permeated the day. We stopped at the farm to leave a Father's Day card for my dad, who was becoming a swimming quintuple gold medal winner in the 86-90-year-old division of the Iowa Senior Olympics because he's just that awesome.

I'm sure Dad appreciated the card, but because he lives on a farm and I do not, I forgot to check the doorways for stinging insects and a yellow jacket nailed me on the chin. I repeat: I WAS STUNG. ON THE CHIN. BY A YELLOW JACKET.

It hurt.

Fortunately, my brave brother-in-law (Much Older Sister's chivalrous husband) not only knocked down the yellow jacket nest on the doorframe and sprayed it with something chemical and lethal, he dashed back into the house for a bag of ice the application of which gave immediate relief to my pain and panic.

By the time I reached the House on the Corner my chin was lumpy, red, and swollen, but it did not hurt. The pain didn't set in until I pointed out the lumpy, red, swollen injury to Husband and the Boys.

And they said, "Really? You can't even tell."

Ouch.