Bee attack(ed) in East Van

Thought balloon: Dammit, I promised myself I would actually bring some of the flowers in from the garden this year, and have them in the house. I’m going to do that right now.

(Chop, chop, chop. Rend.)

Alyx: EEEEE! A bee, a bee, hiding in the crocus pretending to drown, undercover homicidal bumblebee of death, OMG, I’m going to dieeeee!!!!

(Run. Run. Crash. Pant pant pant pant.)

Thought balloon: Oh, no, I’ve probably killed her. Poor bumblebee! What can I do? I will rescue her! But wait! What if she suddenly comes to life and stings me to DEATH?? God, I hope the cats don’t eat her while I sit here waffling. OMG, what if she stings Minnow on the tongue? Extend your reach. That was what you did with drowning victims, right? Maybe a tablespoon?

Alyx: La la la… we’re all very calm heeeere.

All very calm… look, would you grab the fucking spoon already… yes, very calm…

Okay, bee. You can dry off there. Or freeze. I will say if you’re not gonna make it, I’d prefer it if you climbed over the edge of the flower box and plummeted three floors to your death so I don’t have to deal with guilt. Or your zombie sting-you-even-in-death corpse.

Bee: Flail.

Alyx: Would you be more photogenic if I moved the spoon?

(Click click click click click click…)


The sad part is I’ve had similar encounters where the bee came off far worse. She seemed pretty robust after it all. And was obediently making for the edge of the window box when last I saw her.

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About Alyx Dellamonica

After twenty-two years in Vancouver, B.C., I've recently moved to Toronto Ontario, where I make my living writing science fiction and fantasy; I also review books and teach writing online at UCLA. I'm a legally married lesbian, a coffee snob, and I wake up at an appallingly early hour.

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