So as I made the turn off Highway 1 onto Bonny Doon Road on yesterday’s lunch bike ride, a bee flew into my mouth and ricocheted wildly as I coughed and spit and orally convulsed. Just when I thought I had him ejected, I felt the stinger sink into the inside of my lip. I eventually slapped him out, but I could already feel the pain spreading through my mouth. I decided I was going to block it all out mentally and focus on the climb—Bonny Doon Road gains about 1100 feet in just two miles—and hope the pain in my legs would outweigh the pain in my mouth. And it pretty much did.
When I got back, I assessed the damage and it didn’t seem so bad. I almost forgot about it by the end of the day.
This morning when I got up, I thought someone had slipped a marble into my mouth. Upon inspecting it in the mirror, it looked as if Angelina Jolie’s lower lip had been grafted onto mine, albeit a bit imbalanced and fatter on the left.
I should have never mentioned this analogy to Chuck at work. Now he wants to kiss me more than he normally does, and have me perform other salacious acts. He really needs to take the harassment class.
(PS - Yes mom, I know I need to shave.)
