A little levity for your day.
Tonight the gorgeous hubs and I drove our daughter and her best friend to the EX in Saint John. We arrived just in time for them to be closing up. We thought it ran until 10 tonight, but sadly, 5:30. Still , thanks to a generous man who was leaving with his tired small daughter in tow, the girls got a dozen tickets and managed to eke out two rides. They decided to see a movie instead of the afore planned night at the fair so we dropped them off and headed for home along the back roads. I drove, and Shawn struck his comfort pose: window open, arm draped along the ledge.
That’s when it happened. On a road rife with twists, turns and hills.
A bee. Flew in. The window. And landed. In. My. Crotch.
I tried not to panic too hard, but I somehow managed to lift my entire, seat, off the seat while slowing the car and eventually pulling over.
That’s when I hit the release on my seat belt and did a full pelvic thrust upwards. I howled at Shawn to get it, kill it, but carefully because he is allergic and I didn’t want him to get stung either. He was frantic with me. “Kill it with what?” He asked. “Your shoe?” We both looked down. He had laces. It would simply take too long. And my shoes were out because I was using them to keep my body hovered as high over the seat as I could. Lifting one foot to remove a shoe would drop me hard back down and, as I yelped, I didn’t want to be stung on the Beav.
Thankfully, it appeared our little visitor had already died. Or had he? We didn’t want to wait to find out. Shawn managed to get it into a tissue and drop it out the window.
We got back on the road, but we laughed. Who? Who else does this happen to?
No one was stung, happily. And we arrived home with a new annecdote in our ever eventful lives.
I know I should feel sad, if the bee really did die, because it’s so important to save the bees, but, I’m not ready to donate my honey pot to the cause.