I only managed to work out in the yard for a couple of hours before "something" stung me! Dearly Beloved thinks it was a critter of some sort, but I swear I didn't see nuthin crawlin' or flyin' away when it happened. All I knew was I was sittin' on my little rollin' tool bench, and suddenly a very specific poiint on the arch of my left foot was ON FIRE! I yanked off my clog, nothin' was on my foot, looked in my clog, nothin' in there, looked at the ground, nothin' scurrin' away with a guilty look on its face. Looked back at my foot and this one little spot was turning red. But it was burnin' like some invisible cigarette was being held against it.
So I hobbled over to the dish I had put fresh water in for the dawgs...and plopped my foot in it. That cold water felt sooo good. I was making these loud, inarticulate noises that attracted the attention of the Dearly Beloved, who was inside the house. He hollered out, "Are you OK?" I managed to form the words, at last, "NO, I'm NOT OK!"
He comes out to see me standin' there, holding one clog, and with one foot in the dawg's water dish. He washes the dirt and mud off my foot so he can see what I'm so upset about, not understanding my answer of, "My foot is ON FIRE!"
By this time the 'red spot' has turned into a raised spot, that's dark red. He wants to know if we have any meat tenderizer. "No" "Well, where's the baking soda?" he wants to know. Why is he asking me all these questions?!?! Why doesn't he just pick me up, and carry me inside and pull some magic medicine out of his hidden emergency medical supplies that he surely has hidden SOMEWHERE and make this AGONY go away? So I tell him to look in the pantry, while I carry the dawgs water dish over to a chair so I can sit down while he goes to look for the soda.
And he turns on the hose so I can have fresh, cool water runnin' over my foot. He comes back out of the house with a tea bag, having been unsuccessful in his search for baking soda. But it worked quite well.
Before I got stung, I cleaned out about 18' of overgrown fence line. Trash-bushes, brambles, overgrown boxwood. I have GOT to find a way to KILL all this stuff.
SO, it's now about 1am and I'm gonna take my blood-blister looking thing on my foot and go to bed. Tomorrow...maybe a story about Flo and Lainy