Bees Are Not Our Friends

...although they make excellent honey.

I have started using the roof of the pig shed as my own personal beach. I climb up a homemade ladder, lay down a winter jacket and a towel, and begin the bronzing process. It has only been two days since I have started using this recently untapped resource, but I have no doubt I will soon be reaping the benefits.
Today, however, was an experience. I climbed up to my oasis and laid down to enjoy a bit of the summer sun. Fifteen minutes into it and something is buzzing around me and lands on my arm. I look over and see it is a bee. I forgot to mention that the neighbor grows bees and this morning they somehow got out and were swarming around our house. I heard about it during lunch but thought they were under control and all accounted for. Silly bees. The bee, upon noticing that I noticed it, proceeded to stick its big stinger into my arm. I swatted at the bee, which was now secured to my arm and finally detached it from my throbbing limb. In the process, I failed to remember that I unhooked the top part of my bikini top, to avoid a weird tan line. My boobs were flying around while I was busy combating the bee. Luckily, I was facing other gardens in the neighborhood and today was not a gardening day. Having contained my boobs, I heard more buzzing coming from my hair. Two bees secured themselves into my hair and were trapped. I was freaking out by this time and on my feet on top of the pig shed. I was screaming and throwing my head from side to side trying to dislodge the bees. My host mom and host grandmother were watching the process and were also swatting their only personal fan club of bees. My host mom was laughing at the situation, actually mostly me, and was asking me where my camera was because she thought it was worthy of a Kodak moment. Keep in mind I was in my bathing suit, flapping around about ten feet in the air. I was balancing myself on the not so straight roof, gathering up all my belongings, trying to put on my shoes, kill the bees AND shuffle down the ladder before anymore harm came to me. My host mom was laughing and telling me to kill them all while my host grandmother was thinking I was going to fall off the roof and be eaten alive by the bees. After the whole ordeal we all laughed despite our numerous stings. Now, I will use my bandana before going outside when the neighbor is having "problems" with his bees.