Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt
When I was growing up I was the kid who fell out of trees, got lost in the airport, rode my bike on the ice during the winter and slid out of control right into traffic.
When I was almost four years old I got bees in my hair and my Mom had to pull them out one at a time with her fingers ( without getting stung) while my Dad ran in and out of the house screaming something about calling the Fire Department.
I watched my Mom flick one of the bees into the bushes.
” What is in your hair?” she asked.
” Bees” I said.
” You know what I mean.”
” Orange Soda Pop”
My Mom slid another bee off the side of my head.
” How did you get Pop in your hair?”
” I wanted my hair to be orange so ” I mimed washing my hair with my hands.
” Well, your hair isn’t orange, it’s full of bees. Are you getting stung?”
I was listening to the buzzing that was floating around my face. ” No.” I said trying not to laugh.
My Mom got the bees out- she said she pulled about eight of them out of my hair and as luck would have it neither one of us got stung.
I’m not clear on how it happened but my Dad got stung.
After the de-beeing was complete and my hair was washed I ran around the house for the rest of the evening buzzing like a bee and when I did as much as look at a bottle of pop I’d crack up and start to laugh.
My Dad watched me running around in circles buzzing like a swarm of killer bees in one tiny little body.
He said to my Mom, ” Maybe we should sell her to the circus.”
” She IS a Circus.” my Mom said lighting up a cigarette as I buzzed my way up over the back the couch she was sitting on.
Somehow I fell and got stuck between the back of the couch and the wall and all you could see was my foot sticking up over the top.
I buzzed until I was freed.
For my own special reasons, I didn’t go near a circus until I was almost 18 years old.
You know, just in case the family made good on the circus threat…and over the years I gave them plenty of reasons to consider that option.