Not an euphamism for whoopie

My ass is throbbing. I was stung repeatedly by a nasty yellow jacket. It had somehow gotten inside my mesh shorts, and, while I was taking a reservation at Madison Hostel this afternoon, it began its assault. "Oh my God!" I said to the women who will lodge at the hostel in early July, "I'M BEING STUNG!!"


Tee by Banana Republic, Nike shorts, and briefs by Paul Frank.

Near the end of my shift, I discovered an afflicted yellow jacket stumbling across the office rug. I smashed it first with a freshly laundered and very newly folded hand towel and then with a baseball bat, which-- for some reason-- we keep under the front desk. I am not an animal: repeatedly beating an insect with a baseball bat is, at least in its details, a mighty refined activity.