Amy's post and its comments reminded me of the following tale. And its true, I hate to say. Every bit of it.

A couple of months ago I was sub-pianist at a church here in town. Half way through the last verse of the opening hymn, a wasp flew at me and landed dead-center on my chest. In medical terms that would be something like medial thorax, I think. Anyways, I couldn't decide whether I should swat at it or leave it there, thinking in the back of my mind, "If I swat at it, it might get mad and sting me! Maybe it will just buzz off if I leave it alone." I finished the song. You may clap and cheer at this point, in celebration of my bravery, but I must say this was truly a miracle. I wish I could remember what song it was. It could make this story more interesting.

During the greeting time I motioned for my brother to come save me. The elderly elder (who once told me, in a fashion, he'd marry me if he was younger) came to my rescue as well, just at the point that I was swatting the wasp off of my chest. It started buzzing its wings as it got tangled in my hair. I got a little frantic at this point. It then flew over to the window where the elderly elder smacked it multiple times unto death with his bulletin. I don't really care to think what was going through the minds of the kind people in the congregation, when they witnessed their lunatic fill-in batting her chest as the ending to a reverent song.