The Saga of the Bee (and his Timely Death)

Last night, I saved my mom from the immanent doom of a bee.  (She is allergic, deathly so.)  I myself am terrified of bees, but that is because I have never been stung, so the fear of the unknown overwhelms me.  It was on a bag, just sitting there; Mom thinks it must have been close to death because it wasn’t moving, but I think he was just faking it until his moment would come (which it never did).

I approached said bee, heavy glass in hand, cardboard in the other, and slowly, deliberately placed the glass over him.  Then I slid the whole thing onto the cardboard and placed it on the ground.  I asked my mom if she thought he could escape, which she did not.  I, however, wanted to be on the safe side (because you never know; he could be a very strong bee) and so I placed a potato on top of the glass.  Just in case.

I made sure to lock the door to the garage, also, so that no one would walk in and knock the glass over.  Mom thought it was hilarious, so she put the following note on the door to warn Dad:

Dad told us he also thought it was hilarious.  I, for one, thought that I only took necessary precautions against the scourge of society, aka the bee. 

It’s good I was there.