Zom-bee Attack

If you are reading this, you must first have read "When the Bee Stings...," otherwise, this will not make sense, or at the very least bee a spoiler.

I said DON'T read this without reading the last posting. Go back and read "When the Bee Stings...," you cheater.

Important details from my last beescapade:

• I was playing outside, a bee landed on my pants, stung me when I got up to my room.
• I decided not to kill the bee and just go to dinner, since it would die without its stinger while I was dining.
• The bee's body was never found (dun dun DUN!)

How could he not notice these facts?

• I never found the stinger in me
• I had two red not very swollen sting marks, instead of one big one.
• Flying insect was not fuzzy/furry/hairy like a bee.

In short: IT WAS NOT A BEE.

Which means: IT WAS STILL ALIVE...IN MY ROOM. holy expletive, how scary is that?

I was minding my own business, and went up onto lloyd's bed to do leg lifts, since they mess up my sheets and lloyd doesn't have sheets on his mattress because he never sleeps in our room (literally, not once in the past 3 weeks).

Then, it came back, back from its supposed grave: that ominous, malevolent, buzzing.

Heart pounding, I immediately start flailing my arms in the circular pattern and jump down from the lofted bed.
My first fleeting thoughts:
1. I am dealing with an undead bee. What is this?
2. I am only wearing boxers. that means lots of surface area for potential stinging.

With the grace of a gazelle and speed of Dash from the Incredibles, I throw athletic shorts on, not to ameliorate concern #2, but to reduce embarrassment from a potential life saving dash into the hall.

Thinking quick on my feet, I grab two of lloyd's monogrammed bath towels (he has a pile of like 5 dirty ones behind our door), and start whirling them around my head, creating a linen force field against the hate filled flying pest.

Another innovation, I stand in facing my mirror, as to monitor the airspace in front of and behind me. Alas, the wasp was struck! However it was no crushing blow, but a stunning brush. In a frenzy, I seize my enemy's lost of momentum and throw the towels over the fiend and pounce on it, jumping and slapping the mess out of the two towels.

A sudden lull. False sense of security. Thinking my battle won, I lift up the two towels. To my horror, no insect is seen. In a panic, I vigorously shake the two towels. The body flutters down to the cold tile, an apt final grave for this menacing part of God's creation. The insect refuses to accept its fate, flitting slowly upwards, rearing its ugly head and compound eyes.

On my knees, my hand reaches for my nearby slipper. It is a race against time: with every passing second, my stinging prey climbs higher and regains more strength, making the crushing blow harder to land. My hand meets the lifeless leather slipper. The lifeless leather slipper meets the insect. The lifeless insect meets the cold, tile floor.

Mission accomplished. However, from Zombieland, I learned to double tap (shoot the zombie more than once for good measure). Since this is a zom-bee, my shoe claps the exoskeleton and the floor thrice more.

Upon examining it's near two-dimensional carcass, I see my folly: this was no bee, or even zom-bee. This was a yellow jacket-wasp. A flattened version of this lay on my floor.

My Battle won. I know relish the warriors feast: pumpkin bread (thank you Aunt Gay).

Toodles.