When I was a kid we lived on 15 acres of land; 9 of which were wooded. We didn't have any neighbors so a typical day for me was to go explore, hunt, build forts, bike, etc.

Our woods were split into 2 sections, 10% was in the front yard and 90% was in the back. Most of my time was spent in the larger, back woods. But one day when I was in fourth grade I decided to do some playing around in the front woods. So I got my "hunting knife," which was this old 6" skinning knife, mounted it onto my belt, and went out exploring. About 10 yards after entering the woods I started to hear a bunch of buzzing from behind me. It was a swarm of yellowjackets flying out of a hole in the ground that I'd obviously stepped on without noticing. They bombarded me and started stinging like crazy. I began sprinting back toward the house but before I could make it out of the woods my foot got caught in some old coiled up barbed wire. I fell to the ground trying to get my shoe untangled while getting stung. With no success, I pulled out my knife to cut my shoe off. While doing this I was being stung on the face and, forgetting that I had a knife in my hand, I swatted at a wasp and accidentally stabbed my left hand. There's a still a scar to prove it.

So, I finally got my shoe untangled and ran to the house crying, in a panic while wasps were still stinging me inside my clothes. When I got into the house, I ripped my shirt and shorts off as wasps were flying out. My parents rushed me to the hospital where the doctor counted somewhere between 30 and 40 stings.

That day sucked.

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