Tuesday, August 16, 2011


When I was 4 or 5 years old, I had a little red tricycle, just like every other kid in America.  It had a red frame, white wheels and white handlebars with red grips on them.

One day, I jumped on the seat and grabbed the grips, ready to take off on some adventure, or another.  Suddenly, I had a searing pain in the palm of my hand.  A red wasp had landed on the red grip, and I put my hand right right on top of him.  That did not make the wasp happy, and he had let me know that, in his own way.

It was quite a while before I wanted to get back on the trike, and even longer before I stopped checking the grips for wasps. 

Sometimes, even today, I find myself nervous about grabbing the grips, first thing in the morning.


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As always, sorry about the word verification. It's a necessary evil, unfortunately.