"You Been Goofing With The Bees?"

I hate -- that is a strong word -- "very much dislike" on-line "quizzes." For the life of me, I don't understand why anyone would want to know if I like "broccoli," or if I am a "birdwatcher?"

Regardless, a friend recently forwarded a multi-question interrogatory my way. Generally, I would have dismissed the quiz out of turn; had it been sent by almost anyone else, I surely would have relegated the test to its rightful place in the wastebasket of the Ethernet.

50 questions.

I began by answering with bored, monosyllables but soon found myself elaborating. Worse, I later "got to thinking."

Question 47: How many tattoos do you have? None. Unequivocally, NONE.

Not that I have anything against body art; I actually believe tattoos, in moderation, suit some personalities. (But seriously, why would you tell me on Sunday you have no money to pay bills, then proudly celebrate a brand new "tat" on Monday?)

My issue with tattoos is long-standing but has nothing to do with ink.

I am trypanophobic -- I am terrified of needles.

Question 26: "What did you want to be when you were little?"

When I was five, I wanted to be a firetruck. I had issues.

If alternatively asked, "what could I see myself doing as an adult?" I may have answered that I wanted to be funny -- like Dick Van Dyke. But, I most certainly also wanted to be a physician.

I somehow managed to accomplish both; although one of my patients is always quick to (re-)assure me that, "(funny) looks aren't everything."

Again, I very much dislike -- no, really hate -- needles. How did this needle-phobic kid become a physician?

Summers were spent outdoors; there were no computers or video games. There was also the dictum that children were "meant to be seen -- preferably outside." So long as a summer sun ruled over our street lights, we ran and ran and ran. This amount of time accorded me the opportunity to accumulate a great wealth of (dis-)information from "knowledgeable" siblings and friends.

One valuable lesson handed down -- and confirmed by the singer, Nilsson -- declared: "Don't be goofing with the bees." The rule, in my mind, logically extended to anything with a stinger. I had personally witnessed pain and suffering inflicted on countless friends by these flying marauders; while it wasn't a pure case of schadenfreude -- my general thinking was, "better them than me!" The take home lesson: anything with a stinger is bad.

So, given this construct, why would anyone believe I could somehow grant special sanction to man-made "stingers" attached to syringes filled with potentially life-saving vaccines or not?

My family eventually came to expect it. I suppose it may very well have been embarrassing for them; not for me.

As a result of my fear, I spent a great deal of time as a kid running and screaming through sundry doctor's offices in failed attempts to avoid moustached, pointy-hat wearing, syringe-wielding nurses in white. It was just too bad if you happened to get in my way; I was going through you, "come hell or high-water." In the end, unfortunately, the Cloris Leachman-esque nurses of my youth always had their way with me; they had help -- I clearly understood THAT tone in Mother's voice.

The logic escaped me. Why would anyone voluntarily sit still for the infliction of any pain? Seriously, which of us was truly smart? On one hand, you had an automaton of a child who unflinchingly sat "like a good boy" while under a parent-sanctioned assault. Or, as in my case, you had a boy who dared question -- strenuously -- the necessity of being needled by some stranger. My parents had always told me to use my head -- well, my mind, heart, and accumulated life-lessons called on me to rise up and "fight the man."

Perversely, I later opted for that career as a physician -- with a license authorized by the state to stick ridiculously large bore needles into the persons of my patients. The object of my dread as a boy has now become one of the tools of my trade. Ironic - perhaps even hypocritical. 

Question 22: Birdwatcher? I have never personally seen a tufted tit-mouse.

Question 42: Broccoli? I do like broccoli. Blanched with a squeeze of lemon. Have recently been told to try a broccoli garlic mache?

Question 47: How many tattoos do you have? None.

I DO hate on-line quizzes.

And, I recently had a tetanus shot.

I took it like a man; the bite marks on my hand were visible for at least a day.