sunday in the park with carl

There was a moment yesterday afternoon while walking the dog that I found myself in the unfortunate predicament of having a small bee come between me and my flip-flop. I addressed the situation by teaching some nearby children a few new words and phrases while irrationally swatting at the bottom of my flip flop and thus leaving the bee no other choice than to drive its stinger further into the soft flesh of my arch. The dog merely sat and watched. He recognized these words from the many times I've hit myself in the head with things or crashed into more stationary things with various parts of my person, and he wanted no part of it. This was a battle that I would either win or lose on my own.

The bee was soon defeated, and I awkwardly limped the half-mile back to the Rexmobile at the end of an excited Spaniel's leash. I was willing to call the whole encounter a draw until this afternoon when my wound began to itch like a squirrel having just unearthed a poorly hidden stash behind a crackhouse.

It is not the sweet taste of victory.