I Am Not Really Allergic to Bees
September 29th, 2005
It’s all a complicated, elaborate ruse.
It may have started in the 70’s when the little ten year old bastard that lived down the street from me got stung by a bee and his face swelled up like one of those actors who pretends to be fat in a movie so they can win an Oscar since acting from inside a fat suit is almost like portraying an idiot savant (which has also garnered Oscars in the past).
I remember seeing the result of the bee sting, and the horrifying allergic reaction and thinking to myself, “I think I’m really allergic…deathly allergic to bees.”
As you may or may not know from personal experience, once you start telling people something about yourself that isn’t true — before long you forget that it wasn’t true in the first place, and by the time I was a teenager I was deathly afraid of bees due to the very questionable and not-so-legitimate reason that I “could die if I ever got stung.”
I mean…there was that moment that I almost died. Remember?
I was out watering the lawn for my dad when I got stung by a bee (it was as big as my head, I swear) and within five seconds of getting stung I fell to the grass with my throat all closing up and my face all swelling up around my eyes so badly that I couldn’t even see out of my own eyes!! They were that swollen! I remember gasping for air and screaming “Someone, anyone pleeeeaaasssssseeee-” and that was all I could say as the bee’s poisonous juice was speeding through my veins and attacking every internal system and organ it could. I think it even attacked my nervous system because I had a little mini shaking stroke at the same time and I was dizzy and couldn’t even enunciate full words or sentences. You can imagine, of course, that I passed out at some point from the pain and the stress and the trauma and remember waking up in an E.R. where I was being treated. It was a very scary, very crazy, very dark night that I never wanted to experience again.
Of course, to this day I don’t think it ever happened.
But the lore of the face-swelling, eye-closing, air-gasping, bee sting poison-speeding through my veins moment allowed me to confidently do one thing around people, in public, without feeling self-conscious: run away from bees with my arms flailing in all directions and making this sissy-like worried cry at the same time while flipping my feet up behind me as I ran away, attempting to swat the phantom bees around me.
It is called the phantom sissy bee dance.
You’ve seen people do it, I’m sure. A bee hovers over your picnic table for a split second and everyone stops talking for a moment. Next to men forgetting what they’re talking about when a hot girl walks by, the hovering bee scenario is the only other thing that can affect men and women alike — halting everything around them as people wonder in a Russian Roulette kind of way “Where’s this damn bee gonna land and is it gonna land on me?”
That’s usually when I get up and do the phantom sissy bee dance.
But because of “the incident” where I had to get rushed to the E.R. and where my face swelled up so huge that I couldn’t even breathe or call for help and a local stranger fixing a flat tire noticed the situation and fixed the tire, then rushed me to the hospital, getting in an accident on the way to the hospital but abandoning that chaos just so he could save my life… (which was another part of the story that was added later on for no reason whatsoever), I can do the phantom sissy bee dance and not feel bad about it.
Because I am deathly allergic to bees.
In my head. Which I think is legitimately real. I mean, it feels like it was real. Because I remember that horrific childhood moment so clearly that it still shakes me to the core.
OK, I may not really be allergic to bees — but I think I am.
And isn’t that all that matters?
Once again Pauly, you prove to be so knowledgeable. I’ve always wondered what that bee dance was called, and now I know. As always, thank you.
Comment by Hilary — September 29, 2005 @ 8:23 am
Some people, in Australia and New Zealand, don’t call it the phantom sissy bee dance. They call it the wacklin’ foot jerky bee scoot.
But you know, when are you ever gonna go to either of those places?
Comment by Pauly D — September 29, 2005 @ 8:28 am
That was too cute. It reminds me of something I can’t remember right now. They say if you can’t remember, it was probably a lie. Well, whatever it was, I sure believed it!
Comment by nic — September 29, 2005 @ 8:33 am
Ick. Thanks ever so much for the nightmares the picture atop this post is going to produce…
Comment by annabel lee — September 29, 2005 @ 10:11 am
i know you didn’t mean what you said about going to australian, diddy.
i think that was just a ploy to get me to comment…in which case…
i’m not commenting.
Comment by heather — September 29, 2005 @ 11:18 am
i do this thing where i think certain things happened to ME but really, they happened to my little sister. she corrects me all the time. but, hmm, now that i think about it, maybe SHE’S the one who is confused?
nah, it is probably me. i have an overactive imagination- sorta like some other people (psd) that we won’t name (psd).
Comment by ms. sizzle — September 29, 2005 @ 12:43 pm
Don’t those people ever ask you where your EpiPen is?
Comment by Nicole — September 29, 2005 @ 12:54 pm
I was always so jealous that everyone else in my family wore glasses except me that for years I wore my reading, albiet prescription from an actual eye doctor, glasses ALL the time. I used to tell people, “Yeah, can’t see a thing without them.”
But there was no dance associated with it, damn shame.
Comment by meme — September 29, 2005 @ 1:08 pm
I’ve practiced that dance many a time. Woman, children, alll fall victim to the flailing…oh so much flailing.
Comment by Glen C. — September 29, 2005 @ 2:15 pm
True story, I once did the Nest-Of-Yellowjackets-Up-Your-Sweatpants-Dance in the front lawn, in front of the neighbors, the mailman, my mother, and God.
Comment by kingbenny — September 29, 2005 @ 2:19 pm
If only there was a way to make flailing look suave.
Comment by Pauly D — September 29, 2005 @ 2:25 pm
The ONE time my dad allowed my mom and I to light the grill without him, we did the “oh my god, there’s a nest of wasps in the grill” dance. It’s very modern and interpretive — it involves a lot of grapevining and big arm movements that really explore the space.
Comment by Amber — September 29, 2005 @ 2:44 pm
Has it ever kept you from eating honey?
Comment by Amy — September 29, 2005 @ 2:46 pm
Once when I was a little girl I was running towards our house screaming for money because the ice cream man was coming down the street. Unfortunately a wasp and I crossed paths and it fly into my mouth! So then I was no longer screaming about the ice cream man but about the wasp caught at the back of my throat! My dad came, shoved his entire hand (okay it was just two fingers) into my mouth to get the wasp out. When he pulled it out, it was dead. I think I scared it to death with all my screaming. lol
Comment by groovebunny — September 29, 2005 @ 4:13 pm
Wow…. Pauly, wanna go to a honey bee farm? It would be great! You can have them give you a bee-beard and be forever freed of your phobia. I’ll do it too!
PS my boyfriend does that dance all the time, but he does it in public, to music, with no bees present. That’s just him dancing. When I saw it the first time on our 4th or 5th date I really thought (and fervently hoped) he was joking.
Comment by Adri — September 29, 2005 @ 4:29 pm
You can take your bee-beard and get it as far away from my pseudo-allergic death-like bee allergy and go go go away.
Comment by Pauly D — September 29, 2005 @ 5:19 pm
I do this dance quite well. I also do the I-Just-Walked-Through-A-Spider-Web-And-The-Spider-Is-TOTALLY-On-Me-I-Know-It dance.
Comment by AJ — September 30, 2005 @ 2:02 am
I’m a pro at the phantom sissy bee dance. I am truly allergic to the damn things, though, so it’s ok, right?
Lemme know if you need any more tips on making your fake allergy even more “believable.” (Although you seem to be doing pretty well on your own) hehe
Comment by Em — September 30, 2005 @ 5:34 am
Oh god, AJ.
Don’t even get me started on the “I Just Walked Through A Spider-web And The Spider is Totally On Me And I Know it Dance” or as some also refer to it, “The Octa-Flail”.
I hate that.
Comment by Pauly D — September 30, 2005 @ 6:46 am
Hi…I’ve been quietly reading for awhile. To add to your bee fears, I didn’t know I was allergic until the Saturday in college when my best friend’s mom convinced me to work her yard sale. It was fall and cool and the bees were doing that “I’m drunk because its getting cold out and I’m going to die/hibernate/disappear soon” flying thing that they do. And I had noticed a few of them here and there and had done the Phantom dance you speak of.
Only it didn’t work.
Have you ever had a bee crawl into your shirt and sting you right between your…um…breasts!? Well, it hurts! I feel it sting, remove the bee (yes, with an audience) and suddenly, my face is numb and I run inside and get sick.
My point? You have every right to do your dance. Its justified. Besides, you’re so cool that if you keep doing it, others will eventually join in. Keep flailing, my friend.
Comment by Flower Girl — September 30, 2005 @ 11:40 am