The Buzz

There is a bee the size of a watermelon buzzing beneath the skylight, and he's buzzing in ways that sound very unhappy. (I always tell students to delete very from their lexicon, but sometimes the word seems truly satisfying.)

Anyway, this bee is so big I think I ought to name him and buy him a small car.

In the meantime, given my allergy, I am not sure what to do.

I could hose him down, but the problem with that is the obvious and enormous water blemish I would cause. The house is in iffy enough shape without incurring more damage.

I could bribe him with Spelt ginger cookies, but if he has no gluten problems my enticement might make him that much more belligerent. He might ask for 'real' cookies, and I haven't got any of those to offer.

I could turn on HBO and run the In Treatment series really loudly, and see if any of the patient -- oops...I mean client -- stories resonate. Mr. Bee might, in fact, feel himself aligned with the fighter pilot, and in this way could be talked down.

I could sing.

I could ask all of the cats to sit underneath him and stare at him for a long, long time.

I could net him, but I am not sure where I would find a net large enough. Besides, I have short arms and the skylight is a good eight feet above my head. (Think: Rosie O'Donnell)

I could read him passages from Canadian prize-winning poetry, which will probably put him to sleep almost immediately. (Come on! Have any of you read Loopy?)

I could engage him in a Q&A: How old are you? How long have you been in the city? What are your life's ambitions?

I could run for Prime Minister and, while I am out campaigning, he could either retire or die of old age. Better still, he might want to campaign against me and run as an Independent.

I could catch him in a jar and stare at him through the glass, making funny faces until he laughs himself into apoplexy.

I could read to him from my first novel, but then all of the cats, the fish, and the dog would die, too. (I can see the headlines: Nine Creatures Sacrificed in Death By Boredom)

For now, however, time's a wastin' and Mr. Bee seems to be trying to say something very important from his perch under the skylight. I think I will bring in all of the beautiful flowers that are blooming in the yard and trail a scent of pollen down down down the stairs and out the front door. And while Mr. Bee is buzzing his way out of the house, I'll check the renew date on my epi-pen kit.

Gotta run!

Honey is sweet, but the bee stings! ~ Proverb