I didn’t even discuss what we did this past weekend. Probably because, now that it’s summer, the weekend doesn’t look much different than all the other days in the week. We went swimming and then we went swimming and then we went swimming again.
Actually P was out of town fishing all weekend. His original plan was to leave on Friday evening, fish all day Saturday and then come home late on Saturday night. Well, at least that was the original plan unless they were having a lot of fun. Which in guy terms means catching a boatload of fish.
(As opposed to having a lot of fun in girl terms since that roughly translates to laughing and drinking wine while discussing The Bachelorette and the advantages of using a magnifying mirror to pluck your eyebrows)
(Or maybe that’s just me)
But P and his friends ended up getting marooned on a desert island (Not a dessert island like I originally typed. Which is unfortunate because that would be delightful) like Gilligan and the Skipper, too. Except there wasn’t really an island involved at all, but rather three guys stuck on a boat that ran out of gas two hours from the nearest dock. Fortunately one of them was able to get enough of a cell phone signal to call someone to tow them back to shore because otherwise the whole thing could have ended up like some kind of Man vs. Wild episode where they had to learn to live off the land. Or they could have just flagged down a passing boat to help them out. Either way.
So P didn’t make it home until Sunday because they didn’t make it back to shore until late Saturday night and he was too exhausted from the whole ordeal to drive home. And then he decided that since he was still there on Sunday morning that he might as well fish. Meanwhile, Caroline and I were back at home. Swimming. And did I mention we went swimming?
And it was while we were swimming on Sunday afternoon that I got stung by a bee on the inside of my calf. It burned like hellfire but I didn’t want to be dramatic so I pulled the stinger out and put some ice from my drink on it to stop the horrific burning sensation.
(So much for not being dramatic)
It finally quit burning after a little while, but later Sunday night I noticed it was red and swollen. I showed it to P and asked if he thought that was normal since he gets stung by stuff all the time and has never had anything look like that. He explained that it’s because he takes Zyrtec every day for his allergies and always has medication in his body to stop the hista.
“The hista. You know? I take antiHISTAmines.”
He is hilarious.
And histamine free.
I wish I was going to tie up this whole bee story into something resembling a point, but it’s not going to happen. However, I will tell you that it has now been thirty-two hours since I was stung and it still hurts. Bees and their ilk are dead to me.
In other news, P had one of the Mendez brothers come over yesterday (while Caroline and I were swimming) to float and tape the cracks in the kitchen. So now that the kitchen walls are covered in caulk and bondo, it looks like I’m going to have to really paint it turquoise. Unless I want my kitchen to continue to look like an El Camino in East Texas.
So I’m off to Home Depot and Lowe’s and various other paint establishments later today to look at paint chips and purchase samples and to generally obsess over what shade will make me feel like I’m in the middle of a peaceful oasis as opposed to eating bad Mexican food at an establishment named “Vallartas” with a menu featuring a mustachioed man wearing a sombrero on the front.
Then I’ll go pick up Caroline from Vacation Bible School.
And then we’ll go swimming.