...will be 95% smaller today.

Today I left to go spend some quality time with my wlofhounds, as I do about three times a week. I loaded up Shelby into the Widget for the 1+ hour drive out to Nonna & Opa's in Katy, where they live.

It was just a typical romp for them - they ran around like maniacs chasing each other, stopping every now and again to cool off in the pool. Until it came time to put them back up in the pen.

I closed the gate and started to tie it closed with the rope that dangles there for that very purpose. About 3/4ths of the way through my special hognot, my left hand suddenly felt like it was on fire. I reflexively slapped at it with my right, smacking the three wasps that were merrily stinging me away.

It seems as if they had built a nest on the gate, and got pissed at me for swinging it around. I've not seen ones like this before. They were big red and black wasps, as long as my thumb. I've been stung before, but these little liberal motherfuckers (Hi BMary! :-) really hurt.

Funny how mean you can get when it's your ox that gets gored. I cut loose a steam of invective that had Baptists passing out for about a half-mile radius, dancing around in pain like a barefoot dervish on a redhot griddle. I watusied the hundred yards back to Opa's garage, to run my steaming hand under the faucet, cussing all the while. I tangoed into the garage, and grabbed two beers out of the fridge, chugging them as the dire oaths of revenge bubbled up through the beer going down. (Drinking and dancing go well together) I grabbed the can of wasp killing spray, and did the mashed potato back out to the gate. My hand was swelling up like a poisoned pup. I locked and loaded, aimed in on the nest, and terminated them with extreme prejudice in a chemical weapon attack, while the profanity streamed on unabated.

My jihad done, I drove home with my left hand in my lap, still squirming and cussing. I stopped at the liquor store and picked up a bottle of vodka and some tonic.

So, I'm typing this one-handed, with my right hand, no less. (I'm lefthanded). Alternating complete sentences with slugs of vodka tonic. As if my typing was not slow and poor enough before.

The fingers on my left hand look more like overstuffed pink breakfast sausages, I can't move them too much, and the skin on the back of my hand is so swollen I'm wondering if it's not gonna split open. I never knew skin was so elastic. My left palm is easily twice as thick as the other. The swelling is halfway up my forearm. Did I mention it hurts?

Prolly won't be posting much more today. I hope. Iffn I do, I refuse to be responsible for the content. Whiskey river took my mind...

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