Here’s what happened:
I got on Facebook yesterday morning and immediately noticed a picture that my friend Eric’s partner posted—a picture of Eric’s hands all lumpy and one swollen to almost to twice its normal size. Swollen into a great big Donald Duck hand.
I contacted him immediately and demanded to know what had happened. And he told me that while working in the yard he had inadvertently disturbed a yellow jacket nest. The bees, of course, swarmed and attacked—chasing him over 400 yards and stinging him almost a dozen times. “It hurts,” he reported unnecessarily.
I asked what any right-thinking woman would ask, “What did the doctor say?”
Long pause. Then, “Do you think I should go to the doctor?”
I managed not to scream “Yes, you idiot, get to the doctor immediately!” and said, “Well, if your hands are still as swollen as they were in the picture, YES!”
Which is when he allowed that it was difficult to tell how swollen his hand was because his forearm had started to enlarge as well.
It took all my self-restraint not to jump in the car, drive to St. Louis, and put him out of his misery by beating him to death. “Call your doctor!” I insisted.
So he did…and the doctor told him to go to the emergency room. But did he? NO.
“I’m not going to the emergency room for a bee sting,” he said.
And you know what? My husband, Opie, chose that moment to take Eric’s side. “I’ve had bee stings,” he said. “He’ll be fine.”
Which pretty much sums up the difference between men and women. Women look at an injury that can only be described with comparisons to cartoon characters and realize medical attention is a good bet. Men look at the same injury and think “I bet a picture of this would get a lot of hits on Facebook.”
Thus, I have decided I need to take a new stance on gay marriage…I believe in freedom and love and equal rights for all but I also feel an overwhelming need to save Eric from himself.
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