She doesn't have a dragon tattoo and she doesn't play with fire but on Sunday my daughter was the girl who kicked the hornets' nest. Well, to be precise, the girl who kicked her soccer ball into a hornets' nest, then went to retrieve the ball.
The first I knew of it was when I looked across the field at half-time and saw my daughter doing some sort of a dance and screeching. In defence of what I'm about to say next, we had had some issues in earlier games with the girls acting up at half time or when they were subbed off and not paying attention to the game. I had to have a conversation with her beforehand about taking herself and her team seriously. So it was with great dismay that I watched her side-line jig.
Striding around the field to lay down the law I became aware that the girls' trainer had tackled my daughter to the ground and was hitting her legs which were teeming with hornets from the knees down. She was stung four times (thank goodness for shin guards) and five other girls and a linesman were also stung. It took them a while to recover but the girls went on to win 2-0. Maybe, like a whippet with a sprig of ginger in it's bum (look it up, it's true), they were inspired to run away from the sting.
Boy did I feel guilty though. I vastly overcompensated by celebrating the victory like it was a World Cup win.
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