Don’t ever startle a 52 year old man while he is holding his weenie. No one wants to see how he reacts, including the 52 year old man. Nor do all the high school band nerds he was watching while holding his weenie.
Even I am creeped out by the way I introduced this blog. Bad Stevie. Bad, bad, bad.
This past week was one of those crazy, mixed up, wacky weeks. Things can get that way in my world. To quote one of my favorite song writers, “It’s a mixed up, crazy world, and I’m getting kind of queasy as it spins around”. My stomach has been doing flips all week, like I have been riding the Zipper or something. Ride the Tilt A Whirl after having a few fudge bars and you will be able to relate.
My daughter, the one who is the head marching band nerd, the drum major, hosted the preseason picnic party at our house this week. Thursday night over fifty high school kids filled our back yard for a night filled with frivolity, or as frivolous as possible for a bunch of really good kids. They played a lot of zealous badminton, enough that I was afraid our neighbors would call the police. And bags, competitive bags, cut throat. I had to step in a few times to settle them down. And cards, Apples to Apples, I think. At one time they were wagering Fig Newtons. I am assuming they were Fig Newtons.
I cooked the burgers and hot dogs, then watched in a very chaperony fashion from our deck. At one point, I employed my now famous gasoline technique of starting a bonfire in our campfire ring. Believe it or not, that technique was employed upon request. Pyrotechnics are a specialty of mine.
It was during that chaperony thing that my weenie was startled. There I was, savoring my grilled weenie, when I felt something large crawling on the back of my neck. I reached back to investigate and…
ZAP!!!! A hornet latched on to my finger tip and stung my finger. I launched from my chair, emitting a muffled “OWWW!!” as my weenie dropped to the deck.
What is ironic is that I was afraid one of our party goers would be the one getting stung. While preparing our yard for the party last week, I discovered a hornet nest hanging fairly high in our back yard maple tree. Part of my prep for the party was to cut the limb down, soak the nest with insecticide, then burn the basketball sized nest. There were hornets swarming that nest when I cut it down, a scary sight indeed. Even though I had taken care of the nest, I was afraid there would still be hornets lurking. There was one, probably that last ninja hornet seeking revenge. I’m pretty sure I heard a TORA, TORA, TORA before getting zapped with the sting.
So my week was filled with dealing with the anxiety of a overly involved wife, obsessing over party preparation. We made it. The party was a success, enough that the kids stayed until midnight. That’s late for band nerds.
Oh, and my St. Louis Cardinals took two out of three from the lackluster Cubs this weekend. I am sporting the red.