The Secret Life of Bees

Our neighbor in the house in back of us has a beehive attached to their tree directly behind our garage and although I have made pleaded attempts to have them remove it they have so far ignored me. Now I know what you’re thinking, “this story will not end well”…you’re right, but first let me take you back a little bit. I also have neighbors to the right and left of me. A few years ago I decided it was time to replace the old dilapidated fence on both sides of our property. If you visited back then you might remember that fence, it hung lower than a pair of Dickies on a 16 year-old gang banger. It was a white picket fence that at one time probably looked like the fence around the house on Leave It to Beaver but now it just looked like Beaver left it. Anyway I approached each of these two neighbors about splitting the cost for a new fence. My neighbor to the left, a sweet old lady, agreed to split the cost. I also talked to the old broad to the right but her ass was too cheap to split the cost and she never got back to me, in fact she avoided me like I was an IRS agent attempting to collect back taxes from her for domestic work she performed during slavery. Did I mention she was old? Seriously, I could swear I saw her in the background of the painting of The Last Supper. Needless to say she got the ugly side of the fence and now I throw her the stink eye whenever I see her stingy ass.

The problem is she has a couple of Bebe’s Kids for grandchildren…and I know one of the little mini gangstas stole my ghetto blaster I used to keep on the patio. Whenever they visit her the dumb asses kick their ball into our yard and then hang on the fence like monkeys on a jungle gym trying to climb over to get it back. I don’t know how many times I’ve been tempted to take the ball and use it to knock their little asses off the fence like ducks at a carnival shooting gallery. I’m constantly shooing the little buttholes away and its put wear and tear on the fence and lately the portion behind the garage has begun to lean over, which brings me to the bees.

It was Sunday afternoon and Wick had been out of town since Friday visiting his daughter in New Orleans for the Thanksgiving holiday. As much as I had been looking forward to spending a little time alone I was bored out of my mind. I had watched a gazillion movies on the DVR, already been to the mall and there is only so much solo cheesecake gorging one can do, so I decided to fix the fence in the back. To get to the fence I had to climb over the plastic bags of hundreds of can and bottles we had been collecting for recycling all year long. These cans and bottles were piled so high I felt like I was on the Lewis & Clark expedition. The only thing missing was Sacaja what’s-her-name. Once I crossed over them I felt like I should erect a flag like the first moon landing. Anyway, I made it to the fence to check out the situation. The bees stayed on their side and I stayed on mine. As I looked at the damage caused by the next door rugrats, I realized I would need a ladder to complete my mission as I needed to reach over the fence to mend it. So I headed back over the Cumberland Trail and to the garage to get one.

Finally I made it back and was able to repair the fence. As I surveyed my way back over the Swiss Alps with the ladder in one hand and the hammer in the other a bee began buzzing around my ear. I decided I would ignore it and kept going as I assumed we had a cease fire agreement but the bee had other ideas. It landed on my nose just as I was mid step over a pile of cans. I tried to remain calm as I looked at it cross-eyed thinking I could just flick it away with the hammer in my right hand. Of course I ended up hitting myself right below my left eye which must have startled the bee because I swear I heard him yell “Oh Shit!” and through my crossed-eyed gaze I watched as he released his stinger right into the tip of my nose. As I heard myself yelling “Oww!” I began to fall forward over the cans for what seemed like an hour all the while thinking to myself, “Don’t yell to loud you don’t want to alert the rest of the bees”. As I hit the ground the bee fell from my nose leaving the stinger behind. I tried to get up but I kept falling over the bottles and cans and I could hear the bees begin to buzz around me forming an armed force ready to strike. All I could think to do was cover my face but I was still holding the hammer and almost knocked myself out with it as I raised my hand. 

After several unsuccessful attempts of slipping and sliding and getting my feet stuck in the bags, I was able to get to my feet and running silently like a mad fool flinging my arms around me, made it back to the house and inside without further stings…and fortunately, no further hammer injuries. I grabbed a pair of tweezers and removed the stinger, which from the throbbing pain I was feeling I was sure had to be the size of one of the Jolly Green Giant’s bowling pins but to my surprise was really tiny. My nose immediately began to turn red and swelled so big I looked like Jimmy Durante with a three-day tan (note to readers under 50, Jimmy Durante was a White comedian from the 60’s famous for having a nose the size of a MAC truck). I looked out the window across the fence into my neighbor’s yard and muttered to myself, “damn kids”…should have just watched that damn Monk episode on the DVR.