The weather was amazing. A cool 80 degrees with enough humidity that it doesn't need to rain because rain just seems to remain suspended in the air like curtains. The sky was overcast and there was a slight breeze. Very slight. Like a cat's breath on the nape of your neck. I call it cigar weather.
I also call it scooter weather. I recognize some folks would call it motorcycle weather, but your judgement rolls right off my back. Today is too nice to be judged...it's THAT nice of a day!
So, I'm out with my baby. I call her Flo-Jo, because she's black and fast. We're cruising home from an amazing lunch. Everything is on my side. I'm breathing in deeply, going 40mph in a 50mph zone, with no cars speeding past because all those other boobs are at work. I am cruising...dare I say?...ROCKETING at speeds that would startle any skateboarder or unicyclist. The sky is grey. So grey that it makes everything around me grey. Artist would only use three colors to paint this kind of scenery: black, white and grey. It was so grey that I was expecting Liam Neeson to run out into the road chased by a pack of wolves.
|Flo-Jo. She's one cute Scoot.|
I had a little song in my head. It might have been "How Bizarre" by OMC. Or, maybe "That's Not My Name" by the Tink Tinks. Both are floating around in there regularly, and they both make me smile. And I am, indeed, smiling. Smiling for this amazing day, one day before my birthday. Smiling because it's my mom's birthday today, whom I loved with all my heart. Smiling because of friends and family and life and nature. Nature is fucking awesome!
Suddenly, there's this pain under my left shoulder blade like like I've been hit by a blow dart being shot by a goddamned pygmy. It doesn't flare, or build. It doesn't feel strange and grow into something worse. It's a piercing pain that erupts like Mount Vesuvius. And my back bone was the city of Pompeii!
I swipe at my back, not wanting to lodge this shuriken any deeper into my body. When I do, I feel the culprit! It isn't the throwing knife that I'm expecting. Instead, in my hand is a tiny wasp. And when I say tiny, I mean almost cute. Then, I realize that it isn't dead. It's flailing around in my hand with it's stinger aiming at nothing, like some drunken boxer throwing wild punches in the ring. The moment I realize this little bastard is still alive AND still angry it is no longer cute. It is no longer some tiny bit of nature that I'm holding in my hand. Suddenly it seems to be the size of a Godzilla...or at least, Godzuki.
I sling it off to one side and off it goes. Thank goodness I've slowed to a less rockety 25mph, because I'm cruising one-handed on Flo-Jo and flailing around like some Raid-zapped insect. And already I can feel it swelling and itching.
I'm statin' the obvious, but Nature is a cruel and uncaring mistress!