I got stung not once, not twice, but THRICE on the behind by the same wasp when I was about twelve. The first time hurt quite poignantly, but I was in the middle of a football game during school lunchbreak, and I didn't actually know that there was a [very unfortunate] wasp having misadventures in my kecks, so I bit my lip and swallowed the pain. Afterall, when you're a twelve year old fella out to prove your worth on the football field, it's quite important that you -don't- start running in circles, clutching your bum in both hands and screaming like a girl. I don't know why -- that's just the politics of the playground.

Anyway, the wayward wasp proceeded to sting me a second time, and it was only when the lunch bell had been rung and I'd been herded back to the classroom that I sat down heavily on the afforementioned bottom and recieved the third and final sting, that I realised I must have had an intruder in my underpants. Sure enough, when I got home and inspected my rear in the bathroom mirror I discovered the spent wasp and three deep red welts, all standing proud on one buttock.

Knowing the cause of the pain made it infinitely harder to sit down, whereas before it was merely an irritation.
(Text_Fish -- Humourcide., Wed 19 Jul 2006, 13:41, Reply)