Today the bees were going nuts for my dress. I had one on me while I was eating my lunch, and I got up and started shaking my dress to get it off, but it was too persistent, so I started running around the courtyard and spinning in circles to try and outrun it. It finally flew away. Of course, nobody knew there was a bee on me, they all probably thought I was crazy. A little baby walked over to me and started bouncing, as babies do when they dance. I thought it may have just been trying to get to my lunch (a scrumptious chicken wrap), but then I ran into this about an hour later:
|Bees on Guarana: we're all fucked.|
Allow me to tell you a story. I've told this story about a gazillion times, so those of you that know me have probably heard it before. But as Celine says in Before Sunrise, "I think I can really fall in love when I know everything about someone; the way he's going to part his hair, which shirt he's going to wear that day, knowing the exact story he'd tell in a given situation. I'm sure that's when I know I'm really in love." I know yall love me.
When I was about 2 years old (not entirely sure what age, somewhere around 2), I was playing in the yard. I found a stick, and then I found a hole in the ground. Being the genius that I was (and am), I started poking around the hole to make it bigger. All of the sudden, a fleet of bees rushed out of the hole, and into my onesie (something like this). I believe I was allergic to bees (I haven't been stung since, so I'm not sure) so I started swelling up to about the size of Big Red Bird. Mama was gardening in the back yard, so she didn't get to me with the swiftness of a Cheetah on crack, but our dog at the time - a Golden Retriever named Samantha - arrived promptly upon my first voice-crack of a cry. She ripped off my onesie and pulled all the bees off my skin. I've been told several versions of this story, and everything thus far has been consistent (except my Mama says it was wasps, not bees. Details.), but I'm fuzzy on what happened next. My sister says Mama picked her up from school, and took her with us to the hospital. Mama says I wasn't hurt badly enough to go to the hospital; she gave me enough Benadryl to knock me out, and I was just fine. Either way, Samantha and I were my sister's Show-and-Tell the next day, and I ended up with an epic story.
Needless to say, I have a fear of bees. I mean, I don't freak the fuck out when there's a bee near me. I can calmly brush one off as to avoid getting bitten or stung, but my heart races and my mouth goes dry. I've made peace with the bees. They're necessary in this world: pollination, honey, awesome costume option... I just don't want them around me.
As of about a year ago, Mama is a bee keeper. I think she's got 9 hives now. Those bee hives are a few blocks from home, though, so I can rest easy while visiting. She's so good to me. I'm proud of her. She's saving the (non-africanized) bee population in Marin County, and helping scientists do good research on bee health across the country. PLUS I get free honey. Fun fact: local honey is really good for those with allergies, because it's got all the local pollens in it and allows your body to build up protection from those pollens before they can affect you. Unfortunately, honey from her bees are no longer local for me, seeing as they're 1500 miles away from Austin. C'est la vie.