One day way back in high school, I was talking with fellow blogger MC Squared during the lunch break. I don’t remember the topic, but it was probably stupid and immature, because that was the manner in which we rolled. What I do remember, however, is saying the sentence, “You have to be a stud like me.” I recall that because the line hilariously coincided with me trying to dodge a nearby bee with a look of sheer terror on my face. The juxtaposition of my words and my body language was something we laughed about for a long ass time, and rightfully so I believe. I’ve never claimed to be tough, and while I’m sure I was saying that line in jest, my self-contradiction was at a spectacular level.
I thought about that story this past weekend because I witnessed something very far removed from how I react. We were visiting my cousins in Santa Barbara when one of them pointed out a dead bee on the ground in the backyard. A second later, and she was expertly picking it up off the ground by a wing (carefully avoiding the stinger) and dropping it in a flower bed nearby. I would never dream of intentionally touching a bee with my hand. I don’t have an irrational fear of them, but my survival instincts tell me that touching them is a bad idea. I’d sweep it up with a piece of paper or something, but that’s as close as my hand would get. Here’s the best part: that cousin of mine turns four years old in September. Yep, my lack of bravery in the face of insects was clearly illustrated by a child 30 years younger than me. That’s ok; I’m still better than she is at using the potty by myself, so I’ve got that going for me.