It has worked out this summer that Sam is home in the mornings as am I. As such I've adjusted my stinging routine--Sam stings me instead of me having to do myself. It's much easier that way--the excellent company mitigates the dread.
We did my feet for the first time yesterday. I was waiting until I didn't have a strong local reaction to the stings to do my feet. After all, I have to be able to do things like...walk. It wasn't as painful on my feet as I was worried that it would be. Except that after the first sting (on my left foot), the bee escaped from the tweezers and crawled between my big toe and the next one. I try to at the very least be stoic about getting the stings, not making a lot of noise and such, but I have to admit that I squealed "Getitoffgetitoffgetitoff!!!!!!" and shook my foot around epileptically.
Please excuse my hairy hobbit feet.
This is Sam and Earl's porch where the magic happens. Right there on that bench.
Meet Samuel, who is having a bit of theater for the camera.
This is the hive in their yard where I get the bees for stinging. I used to keep them in a jar for a week when I was doing the stinging myself. But I don't really like confining them that way. What's the point when the hive is so accessible? Now I get a jar of bees when I need to get stung, Sam does the stinging, and I let the leftover bees out of the jar so that they can rejoin the hive.
Check out Nuggets coming to see what I'm up to.
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