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(Debbie, age 17)
I hate being stung. I don’t mind bees, but I keep my distance. When I was about seventeen years old I was outside one day in our front yard enjoying the sunshine, when I felt something crawling up my leg. Not a good sign. The real problem was that it was crawling up inside my pant leg.
My reaction was quick and primitive. I striped off my britches in record time—in the front yard and all, didn’t care if the whole world saw! Well, I kinda did, ‘cause I streaked for the house like a girl gone wild. Did I mention I hate being stung?
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