Stupid things I’ve done

Just before I do something stupid, I hear a little voice in my head warning me about the impending danger. Some call the voice a conscience. Others call it the voice of reason. And still others call it a voice from above. Me? I just call the voice in my head Fred.

As far back as I can remember, everything would be all right if I listened to Fred. It’s when I don’t listen that I end up getting hurt.

Last week was a good example. The bushes around the house needed to be trimmed, and I was armed with a new set of 22-inch gas hedge clippers. In 95-degree heat I started to cut, not paying any attention to Fred, who was telling me that it wasn’t a good idea. He also told me to get out of the heat and get back into the air-conditioning. Fred doesn’t like to get hot.

Halfway around the house, deep in the bushes, a hornets’ nest was hidden from view. Unfortunately, hornets don’t take too kindly to 22-inch gas hedge clippers cutting through the middle of their nest. Multiple stings later, I retrieved the clippers and ran into the house to be nursed by The Wife.

Not to be deterred, I made a trip to the hardware store with the big orange roof for some wasp spray. The can’s propaganda stated it would send a stream of death up to 20 feet away. No wasp could survive such an onslaught of chemicals.

Fred didn’t agree. He thought we should call it a day, get back into the air-conditioning and maybe enjoy an adult beverage or two. I, of course, didn’t listen.

The spray worked just as advertised: not a wasp was left flying crawling or even lurking in the bushes. My dilemma? I still had half of the bushes to cut. What if there were more wasps? Could a wasp have sent a message to his wasp buddies to be on the lookout for a 50-year-old man with three stings on the right side of his swollen face?

That’s when the great idea came to me. I’d drench all of my exposed skin with the wasp spray. That way no stinging insect would even get close. I listened, but Fred didn’t say a word about any impending danger, so it had to be a good idea.

Fred always tells me when I’m in jeopardy. When I was 6, my brothers and I took turns climbing over the back deck railing and sliding down the black metal support pipe to the ground. When my turn came, I didn’t listen to Fred. Over the railing I went, grabbing hold of what I thought was the metal pipe and quickly falling 20 feet and landing in a twisted heap. The pipe wasn’t a pipe at all; it was a black metal mop handle.

Four years later, Fred was again screaming at me to stop, but again I didn’t listen. It was Mother’s Day, and we all wanted to make a candle. I held the glass with one hand and placed my other one under it so no wax would drip on the counter. After we got back from the hospital, Mom got her candle. It was a perfect mold of my right hand. I still carry the scars as a reminder of that day and what can happen when I don’t listen to Fred.

Fred was silent as I covered my arms with the wasp spray. Not a word was spoken when I sprayed my legs and face. He didn’t even say a word when I sprayed the back of my neck and head. And he wasn’t speaking as The Wife drove me to the hospital.

It seems that when skin comes in contact with wasp spray it immediately starts to burn like fire and itch worst than a bazillion stings.

The nurses washed the spray off with soap and water and applied a cooling lotion. That’s when the doctor asked me why I hadn’t listened to that little voice in my head. I should know better than to apply wasp spray to skin rather than the wasps.

I would have answered, but I couldn’t hear him. Fred was over in the corner of my mind, laughing his butt off.

Rick Ryckeley

Submitted by Tug13 on Tue, 08/12/2008 - 9:41am.

Are you really a fireman?? Mercy, I can't believe anyone would spray themselves with poison!

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