It was supposed to be a pleasant morning.

College football was back on our television screens, and I was heading out to spend the day tailgating and cheering on the Auburn Tigers with my lovely girlfriend and her family.

As I stopped at the intersection of 98 and 59 in Foley, I sang along to the dulcet tones of Karen Carpenter. Like her, I was on top of the world, looking down on creation.

Until it happened.

I heard my foe before I ever saw him, as a harsh buzzing noise whooshed past my right ear.

“What was…” was as far as my brain got toward processing that noise before I felt something land on my arm.

I looked down, figuring it to be a common housefly I could quickly shoo away or deal with when I got to the Piggly Wiggly.

Instead, my eyes saw hues of black and yellow — the war colors of the dreaded yellow jacket that had picked my arm as his next landing space.

If I had had the presence of mind to think through what was happening, I might have tried to calmly and slowly open my car door (as my windows don’t currently have a working roll-down feature), step outside and lightly tap the tiny blight off.

What I actually did was far different.

I immediately slammed my car into park, threw the car door open and started screaming and flailing about like I was Tippi Hedren in the final attack scene of “The Birds.”

I didn’t know whether the yellow jacket had left my arm or not, but the dominant, panicked thought running through my mind was “Maybe the sheer force of waving my arms around like a crazy person will remove the insect.”

This continued for another good 10 to 15 seconds, when I finally calmed down, remembered to breathe and actually checked my sleeve, which was now bee-free.

I dove quickly back into my car, praying the yellow jacket hadn’t made its way back in there.

The light turned green, and I went back along my way, heading to the grocery store.

I hereby apologize to anyone who might have been at that intersection who saw me.

I was not drunk, nor was I on drugs — I simply detest being stung by any sort of insect, bees especially.

And with the sheer horror of having one stuck in the car with me, panic took over and you ended up with a scene from “Tommy Boy,” with a poor man’s Chris Farley at a major intersection screaming something like:

“Bees! Bees! Bees in the car! Bees Everywhere! God, they’re huge! They’re ripping my flesh off! Your firearms are useless against them! Save yourself!"

Sorry for the inconvenience, fellow drivers.

What was dire peril for me was hopefully mildly entertaining to you.

Cliff McCollum is managing editor of Gulf Coast Media. He can be reached at cliff@gulfcoastmedia.com.