All right, I just got them. But they _were_ in the yard.
Foolishly, this morning, I ventured outside.
I know. Jews do not belong outside.
I wanted to water the pants.
A bee went up my skirt and into my underpants. Feeling rustling in my skirt, I sensibly smacked at it. It stung me. This makes perfect sense in retrospect, but I'm not sure how one calmly and maturely deals with the distinct feeling that _something_ is in one's underpants, buzzing around. I, still channeling my most mature self, started jumping around. After all, now my butt really hurt. I also didn't know whether this was a bee or a wasp -- was i going to sting me again? So I drop my underpants. There's still something in there. I dropped my skirt.
I was wearing an apron. But remember: Out in the yard. Man, I'm a classy neighbour.
Do many exhibitionists strip while jumping up and down and going "WASP! WASP!"?
I'm not sure who I thought I was notifying.
Eventually I figured out I'd better just hobble inside so I could divest myself of all clothes, remove the stinger, and call my mother. What do you mean, call my mother? Well what would you do in this situation? I had to call my mother so she could remind me whether or not I'm allergic to bee stings (I'm not) and what one does with a bee sting (put ice on it and take an anti-histimine).
See? Now you know and you won't need to call your own mother.
She also gave me a helpful lecture on bee sting prevention. Wear pants, carry insect spray, so on, so forth, thanks mom. I think I'll just stick with being inside for the next 18 months.
That said, I did eventually go out to retrieve my underwear. If my neighbours call the police, at least there won't be any evidence.