Last night, when I was hooping down at the beach, I stepped on a bee.

I haven’t been stung since I was 7 years old. For most of my childhood, I got stung once a summer. It was always a horrible experience, with much sobbing and whining on my behalf, and hugs and a poultice made of baking soda and water from my parents. But somehow once I hit 7, I learned the secrets of staying away from bees, and stopped getting stung.

When it happened last night, I found that a bee sting hurts a lot less than I remembered. At first, I thought I’d just stepped on a thorn. But when I looked at my foot, it looked like a strange little brown barb — and did it move a little bit? And, in a most un-thorn-like way, my foot kept hurting even after I pulled the bit out of it.

I kept hooping, but noticed that my foot was throbbing a bit and I felt a little funky. But after ten minutes or so it went away.

Am I more impervious to pain now that I’m a grown up? Is it that, compared to leg waxing, menstrual cramps, and tattoos, a bee sting is rendered inconsequential? I’m not sure.

That said: sorry, bee.