Damn bee.
There is an armored bee that lives somewhere near my patio,
and every spring it comes back and dive-bombs me while I'm cleaning the winter
debris. This bee appears to be outfitted
with some kind of super-shell, a black insect version of the Batman suit, and
the bee is afraid of no one and nothing.
It is immune to bug sprays of every magnitude. Actually, spraying the bee just pisses it
off.
It can hover for long stretches of time, giving the bug-eyed
version of the Evil Eyes. This bee is so
large that, like passing hawks and passenger jets, it casts a shadow, scaring
the buhjeezus out of anyone who is in the path of the blocked sunlight. It stares me down when I stand up to it, and
sometimes it chases me until I scream like a banshee and run into the house,
slamming the door as if it might truly bore through and attack me inside my
home.
Sure, you're thinking, "A bee that comes back every
year just to terrorize you?"
Damn straight.
I've tried killing it, but it just buzzes around maniacally,
knowing full well it can outsmart and outlast me. It will hang around for several weeks, and
then I won't see it again all summer, and I've never, ever bested it while it's
here. Every spring I think to myself,
"Could this possibly be the year that the bee dies?" I mean, let's be serious. Just how long do bees live? Are they like cats? Or are they like tortoises?
Today after an hour of spraying, fighting, throwing things,
and screeching, I sat down on the front stoop and gave up. The bee flapped its mighty wings and held its
mid-air pose like a miniature guerilla helicopter, making neither an advance
nor retreat. I held my hand up in
surrender. I didn't even care if it
stung me; swear to Mother Nature, I was done.
The bee seemed to acknowledge me, then it zoomed back over the
neighbor's fence and was gone. I didn't hear
it nor see it for the rest of the time I was outside. Perhaps that was all it wanted … today. I've no doubt it will be back tomorrow, and the
day after that, and every damn day until summer really rolls in and the budding
blossoms on the trees have been replaced by leaves. I won't miss that bee much, and it wouldn't matter
even if I did. It'll just be back next year
like clockwork.
Damn bee.
