BEE-curious

Despite my craggy crusty white bread exterior, on occasion I have been known to be ‘sweet’ and melted butter soft. Since I’m happily married I do my best to hide my warm and yeasty dough-boy self and usually don’t share my best nectar with those who I don’t know from friend or foe. That fact apparently did not resonate with a random bulky bee who just so happened to seek a patch of hand-shaped shade as I inadvertently brought my paw to bear briefly upon his fuzzy bumble-bum.

Like most folks I’m no perfect Pope, so translating Latin, pig or otherwise from flapping flags and pretentious diplomas is not my strongest of suits. However while my eyes were turned to the skies engaged mightily in that very task, the bossy bee interrupted me by rubbing his furry figure violently under my pinkie before pricking me with his pointy stick.  Oh don’t worry about my barbless benefactor and his electric kiss since he flew away fine with barely a ‘thank you’; just a bit jumpy n’ grumpy from my unfortunate fondle of his itty-bitty bee-hind rumpy. 

Gee who asked ‘Buzz LightREAR’ out on a date anyway – surely not me since I don’t need more complications in my life? Even my wife only gets near my dust covered dump of a truck when it’s absolutely necessary so why would I be expected to engage in a ‘homo-insectual’ relationship with some tush-pushy buttinsky bee? All I know is that for a brief moment my brain was receiving mixed messages as my finger tingled and that hairy manicurist was getting a little too enthusiastic showing off his needlepoint and ample emery board. 

Other than the lingering itch in my littlest of digits and since I’m a Pollen-anna by nature, I have to say my shameless Queeny bee encounter was more of a pleasant surprise than a painful one. Yes I’m positive and not dense (I know because my glass is always at least half full of fat) so there is something to be learned here about my own inner nature. Yes I clearly have to do a better job of suppressing the beast piece of my personality – since obviously I possess an abundance of Anmalia magnetism and I don’t want to BEE too desirable to the opposite species.

Fear of FALLing Pledge

I enjoy all the seasons though a mild and balanced Spring is my favorite with Summer running a close second since I can finally shed my brown flannel-flapped insulated drawers n’ boots in favor of  breezy green jungle undies over ashen glutes. Winter signals a slow hunkering down, more work, and risk of injury but it also brings the fellowship of the holiday season and a new year marker for yet another chance to live life more thoughtfully and try  ‘again’ next time to get it ALL right. But Fall is indeed the wolf in sheep’s clothing since beautiful lush, flowing foliage turns auburn and drawn overnight, wilts, and drops millions of reminders of the work ahead and the loss of once warm temps and long lazy days left behind.

Yes I fear the crispened cool air bearing down and the change of color that so many flock to see and  celebrate because it represents a half year of hideaway hibernation ahead. Though I know it is good for me in many ways, I don’t relish the relentless ‘exercise’ it takes to clean up all of those tree leavings, comings and goings. I can’t ignore the encapsulating blanket of leafy convergence upon the doors, cars, and LIFE so something has to be done with them or my wife, post office guy, and vandals WILL surely notice when they can’t get near the house to do their bidding. 

Oh sure I prepare by stocking up on all of the right tools to help blow, suck, and grind-up whatever I can but in the end, there are more piles of debris than there is pavement to pile it all on. Sometimes I lament my life because it seems so unfair that I have a monopoly on a truly coveted cruddy leaf commodity. Why should others only dream of the wealth that I have amassed - so this year I have a generous plan to make life ‘more fair’ and share my leafy-luxury with the 99% of my community who are less fortunate and haven’t yet FALLen for the benefits of true socialism.

Why should I be so selfish and uncaring to my fellow man when most people aren’t lucky enough to live on the cusp and breathe in the warm and welcoming mildewy-musk, of a giant forested mulch pit? My generous and overly sensitive nature shall no longer know the fear of falling toward the dark side (even under the cover of darkness) and staying self-centered and greedy like in my shady past. From now on I vow to do my best by bulking-up bags of leaves, sticks, and pine needles to gift to each of my neighbors, trick or treatsters, or charity solicitors and help all who must face Fall - longing, leafless, and in genuine need.

WOW: Witless Old Waiter

I have to admit I am not all that good at waiting. Oh sure I can sling hash if I have to and toss tasty trenchers at toothless townies when needed, but I’m talking about the kind of waiting one does unwillingly in doctor’s offices with lots of patience. It’s not that I am better than others or that my time is more important, it’s just society should succumb and willingly appease ME, the def-initely dumb and incorrigible geez.

Since I often must cry for sanctuary when I skulk among the masses, I usually do most of my waiting without interaction from others anyway. Frequently I just stare at my computer and devise awful evil things I want to do to that endless centipede circle cheerfully spinning while it secretly loads malicious malware. All of the exhibitionistic plants in the house seem to grow bashful when I watch them and even pots of gruel refuse to drool unless I walk-away so it can boil blissfully to black on my white hot cook-top.

Invariably when I paint, fingerprints of varying depth and definition will remain on surfaces for all eternity as fossilized evidence of my frequent ready-testing gets the best of me with every coat. At BBQ’s whose got thyme to harangue meringue  and anyway everybody loves crunchy chips n’ snacks so what’s wrong with a little ‘snap’ from the mac in your salads and cheese? If it weren’t for impatient folks like me society might never know the convenience and merits of nose-hole ready carrots, fingerling potatoes or underwhelming hot-pot coffee at overpriced mini-marts.

Weak peeved geezers of my ilk could probably learn to cope a bit better if society would provide TRUE and accurate estimates of time regardless of task. Why is it so hard to have the gas tank in my car actually BE empty when the gauge confidently says so on the dash? If infuriating wait times for customer care or take-offs on tarmacs are 10 minutes at most, why then turn twice that or more with me up-ended babbling helpless to my selfness banging head to floor? It’s no wonder with credentials like mine, I’ll earn eligibility for witless wheezer n’ geezer protection in time - as long as I’m willing to wait, in a very long line.

Flies LIKE me

Like most non-amphibians, I am not a huge fan of bugs in general and flies in particular. Oh I know that insects probably are a lot like us and have their own right-to-life proponents to cheer them on and carry any colored flag except black. However, I would prefer if flies and their irritating hairy-legged larvae would find some other fat and sweaty guy’s watering hole to hang out in after a tough shift working the manure pile.

I am rarely threatened by the older flies – it’s the young ones that cause all the trouble and make me want to lash out and grab the first one I see by the thorax to teach ‘em a lesson. Just because you can dodge deftly and fly faster than even the Mightiest of cartoon mice doesn’t mean you have to show off all of the time to get your 15 minutes of buzz. 

Even when I have spirited a secret wiener schnitzel snack back in my lederhosen I have gotten less attention from old rabid schnauzers and shepherds  than I do the rest of the time from vile virile flies. What’s the great attraction for these ‘first in flight’ flies fresh out of maggot school to dive bomb as close to my ear holes as possible without colliding with my head – am I really that ‘hot’ of a date mate? Oh sure I have lots of attractive crooks n’ crevices for an occasional egg laying except for the fact that I’m already married and anyway, May-September romances rarely work out.

You see, just like me, more sedate and selective geezer flies are predictable enough to go about their business of sucking up and secreting stuff all day long but prefer to avoid unnecessary conflict by sitting silently on a sunny sill. By the end of the day they might have enough leftover energy for a stubbly leg bath or enough synaptic wits to ponder the occasional puzzle in the paper before bedtime. Unlike the crossword in my morning rag though, once ‘stuck’, the fly’s demise is imminent and no help or a useful Goo-B-Gone solution will be printed in tomorrow’s FLY paper!