I sat on a bee

There are a few childhood trauma's I can think of that have stayed with me throughout the years. Getting lost is one because I got lost when I was a kid and the whole neighborhood was looking for me. They found me.
The dramatic incident that still freaks me out to this very day is when I stepped on a bee's nest. It is all somewhat of a blur, I just remember running in my red cowgirl boots. I had seen the cartoons, so I knew a funnel shaped cloud of angry bees was right behind me. There was a bee in my boot but I kept running towards the safety of my house. I'm sure I was screaming and I have no idea what happened to the kids I was playing with. I scared the crap out of my parents and grama as I reached the door, letting in a couple bees with me. 
Bees freak me out. Not so much seeing them, I can swish them away with my hands, that doesn't bother me. But getting stung is another story. Perhaps it's because it's such a shock that the memory comes flying back to the front of my brain. Out of no where instant pain. A violation of my space, the bastards.
Friday the husband, Boy #3 and I went to pick out flooring for the renovation of Boy #3's downstairs bedroom. He's been waiting for this room for years but had to wait for his two older brothers to move out. The joy on his face as being the last bird in the nest is bright enough to light up the deep dark depths of a coal mine. Back to me. We used two cars to load up this stuff so of course my doors were open for a while. Once loaded, I jumped in my car like I always do and I felt a pinch on my thigh, not my butt. It intensified and I freaked out as the husband and Boy #3 watched.
Their brows furrowed as I stood in the parking lot holding the back of my thigh, crying and swiping away invisible bees that I was sure were swarming around me.
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
That's all I got from them until I told them I sat on a bee. The husband tried to look concerned and Boy #3 checked the inside of my car. He told me it was clear and said,
"Get home and take some Benedryl, I'll be right behind you."
One of the longest 7 mile trips I ever drove. I drive a stick so there's a lot of movement involved in driving. I could feel the bees venom seeping into my veins. I didn't even know if the stinger was out. The last time I got stung I couldn't take the stinger out, the husband had to do it. So I cried some more.
By the time I got home I was convinced I was going to loose my leg. The boy was right behind me just like he said he would be. But I had to wait for the husband, who adheres to the speed limit, to inspect what I was sure to be a gaping wound on the back of my leg.
"I don't see a stinger."
"Are you sure?"
"It's just red and swelling. Did you take Benedryl?"
"Yes."
He smiled a little, he knew I'd be whacked out on the couch soon.
"Put some baking soda on it and calm down."
He left me there and couldn't help thinking about that day my mom took my red cowgirl boot off and a bee flew out. I clinged to her as my grama chased the bee with a rolled up newspaper. She smacked the crap out of it, knowing I wouldn't relax unless I knew it was dead. And then they both, my mom and my grama fussed over me, covering me in baking soda goop. I guess part of my paranoia is knowing I have to take care of myself. I guess I miss being a little girl running around in red cowgirl boots.