Yesterday, my wife calmly pointed out a bee/wasp/hornet on her pillow. Like one of Pavlov’s conditioned dogs, I reached for a tissue, gathered the creature in its folds, and took it outside to set it free. I guess technically it was free inside our house, and I was the one who imprisoned it in a tissue, so is that really setting it free? It’s kind of like when Donald Trump signs a heinous Executive Order, chaos ensues, and then he “fixes” the problem by revoking the order, most likely because some circuit court judge ordered him to do so.
Anyway, my wife’s pillow was bee/wasp/hornet-free when she was ready for bed last night. We both slept soundly, with my sounds being mostly snores. That was until I felt a sharp pain in my arm, like a deranged acupuncturist was loose in our bedroom. I groggily reached for the area, grabbed something, threw it on my nightstand, and went back to a fitful sleep. I dreamed I had a stinging pain in my arm the rest of the night. Meanwhile, my wife dreamed she was married to a pain in the neck for the rest of her life.
In the morning, I awoke to this …
Jim Flanigan Looks at the World 