A woman stopped us to ask how to get to the Dali Museum. My husband gave her completely wrong directions because he was confusing his left and his right. I guess that’s what happens when you’re a genius. I wouldn’t know.
Anyway, I suddenly realized I was standing on a fire ants’ nest. The pain of those vicious ants biting me prompted me to break into a crazy little dance. My husband and dog are both familiar with this dance because it was very similar to the dance I performed last week when I was being stung by a wasp.
The woman, having never seen my dance before, decided she didn’t need directions to anywhere that badly and quickly drove off. She was probably afraid that I was a meth addict or something.
My husband looked at me and asked, “What are you doing?”
“They’re biting my toes!” I yelled as I kicked off my sandals and tried to brush the ants off my feet.
He kept looking. As in, doing nothing.
When someone starts yelling they’re biting my toes and doing a crazy dance that means they need assistance. That’s a basic lesson everyone learns in kindergarten — it’s in the kindergarten text book right after the section about not eating the paste.
After I removed all of the ants from my feet with no help from my husband or the dog, we continued on our walk. Fire ant bites are always worse the second day and I woke up the following morning with a mound of blistery itchy ant bites on my foot. It looks like the ants were trying to build me a new toe.
And that, my friend, is how I became known as the incredible dancing six toed woman.
Photo credit: EOL Learning and Education Group
About the Author:
Lovelyn writes a blog, Nebulous Mooch, where she looks at the funny side of everyday life. She’s also written a few novels.