Bow Tie o’ the Day and I thought we should keep you up-to-date about my wasp-stung left eye and right ear. Today, I’m pleased to report that I can now open my left eye a bit, although the entire left side of my face appears to be swollen. Look closely at my ears, and I think it’s fairly obvious my much-stung right ear is plenty swollen, compared to my unstung left ear—to the point that it doesn’t even appear to belong on the same head as my left ear. My face is still itchy and twitchy and mildly uncomfortable enough that I haven’t ventured back out to my truck—the scene of The Battle o’ Little Big Wasp—to go for a spin. That’s my goal for tomorrow. Today, Benadryl is my best friend.
Yesterday was packed with drama, so I knew my Madam Butterfly-inspired Bow Tie o’ the Day would be appropriate for today’s post pix. You can’t get much more dramatic and operatic than Madam Butterfly.
So here’s the scoop. Here’s the reason I can’t open my left eye, use my left thumb, or wear my right hearing aid. My truck has needed a new battery since before the pandemic began. For months my truck has been sitting in the front of our house, where we look longingly at each other every day. I’ve missed my old jalopy truck, so yesterday I called AAA and asked them to bring me a battery and install it. Easy enough. But no! The kindly masked AAA dude arrived, and we chatted about our business for a minute or two, and as I unlocked the truck door, a zillion angry wasps flew out of their nest inside the door—directly at my head. The hat I was wearing protected the top of my head. My face mask protected the lower part of my face. My left eye and my right ear were the pests’ two favorite targets. Both of them were each stung at least a half-dozen times. My left thumb got stung at lease three times.
Y’all know I grew up around bees, so I know how to not panic about swarms of insects flying in my direction. I know how to stand still and let them move past me. I do not pick fights with the likes of bees and wasps and hornets, because I am allergic to their stings. But yesterday, the wasps who set up condos inside my truck refused to play by the rules. They were out to get me. There was bigly carnage, and I was it. I decided to not go to the ER because, surprisingly, my breathing remained fine. In a pandemic, I feel it’s my duty to handle my health issues on my own at home, if at all possible. But don’t think for one minute that my EpiPen isn’t beside me at all times.
Anyhoo… My truck has a new battery. It started right up for the AAA guy, who also happens to be allergic to insects bites and stings. He was valiant in the fight with the wasps, and he never got stung. I certainly gave him a bigly tip. I haven’t dared drive the truck yet myself. Suzanne wants me to call an exterminator to make sure the truck is completely wasp-less before I drive it away to find a dusty gravel road in the middle of nowhere. I should listen to her, but you know how that goes. Now that I wear hearing aids, I can do that thing called “selective hearing.” It’s amazing what my hearing doesn’t hear.
I don’t have time to explain it right now. Wood flag Bow Tie o’ the Day doesn’t either. Let me just say that while I was putting together this afternoon’s Pandemic Hairs Thursday post, I was attacked by an air force of wasps that were living in my truck. And since I am allergic to most insect stings and bites, I think it wise to go jab my EpiPen into my thigh before I can’t breathe anymore. And maybe I’ll visit the nearest ER. I’ll report back to you tomorrow, I’m sure. No worries, folks. I always get good stories to share out of my death-defying adventures. And yes, I have no doubt these pandemic hairs are what angered the wasps into attacking me in the first place.
Seahorses Bow Tie o’ the Day is a little scared by my pandemic hairs. This is how I would look with pandemic hairs if I ever lost my eyebrow tweezers. Within a week’s time, I would be a bow tied unibrow. The only thing worse than having to live with my pandemically challenged uncut head hairs would be if I had to live with my pandemically challenged uncut head hairs PLUS a unibrow. Ain’t nobody wanna see that.
I wasn’t looking for a new shirt. I have plenty. I was buying Skitter’s dog food online, and I happened to see this shirt. I was speechless and felt lucky to have come upon it. I did not check my piggy bank. I did not check the balance on my debit card. I just ordered the shirt, as soon as I calmed down enough to do it. I had to have this shirt. It is, however, a bit roomy for me. To be precise, it is two pillows too big for me. I don’t care. It has to belong to me.
I know. You think I should exchange it for a smaller size. Nope. Not possible. Large is the only size which was still available, so I gladly took it. And even if there were other sizes, no matter which size I ordered, chances are that it would be wrong. I hate buying clothes online. You never know how the size is going to correspond to the size printed on the tag. I am tired of hearing that sizes are universal. To that, I say, “Fake news!” I have a whole closet of shirts that proves sizes are in no way uniform. According to the tags in the shirts hanging in my closet, I wear the size S, M, L, and XL. And they all fit me the very same. I know the laws of physics well enough to know that my one body is not 4 different sizes at once. Universal sizing does not exist.
Anyhoo… I’m keeping this bigly shirt, thank you very much. Scream Tie o’ the Day agrees I should. I probably won’t wear the shirt with the pillows added, however. Maybe I’ll wear it as a bathrobe.
If you’re a regular reader of TIE O’ THE DAY, you know that I often use this forum to thank Suzanne for her patience with my off-beat whims. She comes home from slaving at her office to find things like bow ties hanging from the chandelier-y light fixture, or a tie “stripping” on the lamp pole. I could go on and on. She comes upon little neckwear scenes all through the house. I tell her to ignore what she sees. “It’s a TIE O’ THE DAY thing,” I tell her, before she even mentions anything about whatever it is. But, by now, she already knows that’s the case.
Once again, Suzanne deserves my gratitude. Why? Because yesterday, under the stairs, I found my 2012 Presidential Candidates Chia pets. I gleefully dragged Romney and Obama out onto the dining table, where they will likely sit, unboxed, in all their Chia glory until after the upcoming election. I fully intend to grow their plant-y “hairs.” I will be seeding and watering their Chia heads as per the instructions. I hope the Chia seeds will still work. They are at least 8 years old, of course.
Suzanne won’t complain about the non-talking heads on the table. She will simply work around the Chia heads’ presence in the house where they will be visible to anyone who is here. Obviously, I will post TIE O’ THE DAY updates on Romney’s and Obama’s Chia growth. Perhaps the plant hairs’ growth will somehow predict the outcome of the 2020 Presidential Election. To be fair, I made sure my Bow Tie o’ the Day is covered in red-white-and-blue donkeys and elephants. Stay tuned.
Here are some past X-mas Neckwear o’ the Day photos. Guess what I want for Christmas this year? A hug from Mom. Yeah, I’m 56 and my needle is stuck on the “hug from Mom” record again.
I called Mom this afternoon, and she’s just as chipper as ever. Mom’s always upbeat. It makes me jealous. Almost every time I call her, she is in the middle of doing something or talking to someone. Today, she’s on the hunt for pine nuts from out west. I have no doubt she will wrangle someone in town into sneaking some in to her despite the lockdown. Mom’s got pull. She’s like her very own Mafia boss. She’s THE MOMFATHER. And what The Momfather wants, The Momfather gets!
I kinda feel like I’m interrupting Mom’s routine when I call, but calls from the family are also part of her routine at MCR—especially since we can’t visit her during the lovely COVID-19 era. She says she sleeps well there, and she feels safe. As her family, we couldn’t possibly ask for her to be in a better spot. She always reassures us that she’s content right where she is. She says she’s quite content even though she and the other MCR residents can’t sit by each other at meals or go on their field trips right now.
Mom’s gonna be 90 at the end of September. She deserves to relax, and so that’s what she does. She’s very busy relaxing, all the livelong day.
And sometimes, when I can’t decide which specific topic to write about, I just sit at my desk in the loft and do nothing but smirk at myself. Bow Tie o’ the Day patiently poses with me and my face o’ many smirks.
Ever on the cutting edge o’ fashion trends that begin and end probably only in my own mind, I have discovered that a clashing Floppy Sunhat o’ the Day and Floppy Bow Tie o’ the Day play dreamily off each other—giving the wearer a grand style of self-presentation that’s sure to pinch the eyeballs of all onlookers. I thought it was important that y’all should know that. And now y’all do. You’re welcome.
This slide is from 1969. I’m the one mugging for the camera. Mom is outfitted in orange-and-green plaid and her curlers as she bathes her first grandchild, Jeff Tucker, on our kitchen table. My brother, Rob, grins on. I like that Mom is inadvertently giving a shout-out to Tupperware—demonstrating yet another of the product’s practical uses: as a bathtub for bambinos.
Bow Tie o’ the Day and I can reasonably speculate that orange might be Mom’s favorite color. Mom wore a lot of orange outfits. Our kitchen cupboards (seen here) wore a thick coat of orange. Our living room carpet was orange too. And here’s a secret Mom was proud of: Although our living room walls may have appeared to be a normal off-white, they were not. Mom made sure Shine Church at the lumber yard added a drop or two of orange into the paint when he mixed it. I could never see any hint of orange on our walls, but Mom was adamant it was visible. And she was sure it added both elegance and hipness to our living room walls. I vaguely remember she had a set of orange sconces in the hall at one time. Mom had a knack for making our simple house truly remarkable.
Two of the things I learned from Mom’s decor sensibility are as follows: 1. Orange goes with everything. 2. A room isn’t complete without at least one sconce on one of its walls.
BTW It occurs to me that although Dad was a bigly fan of purple and lavender hues, his hunting-whatever-is-in-season also made orange one of his fave colors too. He spent a lot of time wearing orange. And camo. Don’t get me started on the camo, which is probably the official “color” of the Wright clan.
