I come home this afternoon with the same plan as yesterday: Get changed, sit outside, and enjoy a beverage. This plan goes completely to hell in a bee-infested handbasket the moment I approach my front door.
Yup. I am attacked by not one armored asshole bee, but two armored asshole bees. They are both reasonably pissed off and highly aggressive. Seems to me "someone" (aka: Dink Bee) has been trash-talking behind my back while I am at work.
It's Cinco de Mayo, that Americanized semi-Mexican holiday, so I'm planning on going out tonight, anyway. Might as well skip the sunshine and check my email.
Their huge shadows cast larger-than-life-could-ever-possibly-be black splotches across the blinds. Yes, I admit it, even safely inside behind screens and glass and all, I am nervous. I can hear the angry chatter and see those bees circling the window right where I am sitting ... as if ... as if ...
As if they are stalking me.
Okay, you little fucker-bees, you know what this means.
This means WAR.
Stay tuned, folks; one of us, possibly two, will be going down.
