Irrational Fear

Although I like to think of myself as a strong, independent, fearless young woman-- I have recently been hit in the face with an unmanageable fear.

Despite overwhelming waves of nausea and profuse sweating, I will deliver a speech to funders.

Without the knowledge of the rules of engagement or fluency in the native language, I will drive a 15 passenger van through downtown Tijuana, Mexico.

At work, I have stood up to an un-medicated, paranoid schizophrenic with a knife in his sock and no impulse control, without even blinking.

I am all that is Woman!

Nope.

What is this debilitating fear, you ask?

BEES!

I understand that this is a wasp, and I am aware of the differences between the two, but my phobia does not discriminate. 

Here is how the story of how I learned just how scared I am of bees:

Its Monday morning, 6:25am-- I wake up (5 minutes before my alarm!), rejoicing in the fact that I am awake and ready to start my day. That's when I hear it

 buuuzzzzzzzzzzz. 

Being the optimist that I am, I assume it is a fly, but just to be sure I look up, just in time to see the biggest bee I have ever seen, fall into my open dresser drawer. Instantaneously I am covered in sweat as I dive under my covers. 

"There is Bee.

There is a Bee here.

It's in my room"

I peer out from under my blankets, and I see the bee flying around my light, smashing its little skull into the light fixture, into the door, against the window. 

I am usually composed around honey bees-- because I know they would rather get honey than sting people (since stinging = death) unless they are extremely agitated or angry... the bee has been trapped in my room all night. 

I conclude that it is going to sting me. 

So I run to the bathroom (with my blanket over my head) and lock myself in-- cause bees can't open locked doors. 

Sitting in the edge of the tub, struggling to catch my breath and slow down my heart rate, I realize that my clean cloths are in my room with the bee, therefore I can't go to work. I need to call my boss... but my phone is in the room as well. 

hello, you kill my friend. prepare to die.

Then, I remember something I heard: when bees die, they emit a chemical that tells all their bee buddies that they have died-- and then all the bees come to avenge them (this is sort of true).  

Then it hits me:

I have to get the bee out before it dies! 

Thank goodness I am a natural born slob and an erratic dresser, as I often leave a trail of clothing from my bedroom to the bathroom (to the laundry room, to the living room, to the front door). To build a barrier between me and the bee's stinger-- I put on all the cloths I can find, until I am so bulky I can't really bend at the elbows.  I then throw the blanket back on my head just for good measure. 

I RUN into the room, throw open the door and run back to the bathroom. 

When I have locked myself back in-- I realize...

"I didn't see the bee while I was there.

What if the bee ALREADY DIED?   

And I just...

I just...

I JUST OPENED THE DOOR FOR ALL THE BEE AVENGERS!

Is there another type of chemical bees release if its a natural bee death? Albeit starvation or extreme stress... but I tried to save the bee!    

I recalled the scene in 'The Hunger Games' in which the beautiful blonde girl dies via bee stings (watch this disturbing scene here:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A5hz3gGNgWM), her bloated, blistered corpse, so swollen that her hands have to be broken to retrieve what she is holding...

I wish I was exaggerating when I say this...

This thought of my room swarming with vengeful bees

the thought of ME COVERED IN BEES

Kept me locked in the bathroom for 45 mintues.

and THAT is why I will never be a grown up.