The Mind and Music of Me
I was recently stung by a bee for the first time. I literally ran into it as I was on my morning jog. It freaking hurt, and after running home I began gouging out the stinger with a butter knife. Why those were the best stinger-removal instructions available to me, I have no idea. But alas, the deed was done. The swelling subsided, and this would have been the end of the tale if it weren’t for a strange phenomenon that began taking place shortly after.
EVERY SINGLE MORNING since the sting, a tiny tiny baby bee has been swarming directly outside of my front door during my morning coffee-drinking sessions. On second thought, swarming may not even be the correct word because in reality it just hovers right in front of my face and looks me straight in the eye. Straight in the eye. Brave little guy, I’ll give him that.
This bothered me for quite some time. Why was this baby bee so attracted to my morning mocha? I do not put honey in my coffee and it’s safe to say that at six in the morning I do not even remotely resemble a flower. Then, a wave of crystallization came over me while sipping a Mex Mart at Trudy’s.
This bee was the child of “The Stinger”. His mother, may she rest in honeycomb heaven, was most certainly the Queen Bee. And her recent demise had left him motherless. He has come to me for answers, or perhaps even the stinger itself. None of which I am willing or able to provide. But in his grief he is refusing to leave me alone. He is going nowhere, and neither am I. I’ve got myself a real son of a bee.