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.

E-Bowl-Of

Given my graying growing girth I have to watch what I eat, or more accurately WATCH what other people eat. Don’t worry I have plenty of flaccid fatty flesh reserves and cisterns of black coffee to tide me over until the Dairy Queen and Burger King get together to make a fat-free baby burger I can nurture without guilt. In the meantime though, I think it would be nice if I could find a guaranteed, calorie shredding, diet idea that will help me slim down just by sitting in my easy-geezer chair!

You see that lumpy yawn of a divan is where I do my best calorie cutting (into bite sized chunks). Yes in the presence of those crushed plush n’ crumby tufted buttons is where I write and stress EAT most often, especially after the TV news drones ceaselessly on about curb lurking dangers and societal discomforts. Who can blame both my mouth and my stomach for growling when these days every time I turn on the tele some floosy newsie starts spewing doozies about E-bowl-of this and E-bowl-of that.

So naturally my musty dusty brain filled with a murky milky mush calls to the claws to grab my anchor of a laptop, and the computer that sits atop it, to seek out this ‘E-bowl of’ cereal site that everyone is abuzz about.  I am intrigued since what personage of a portly persuasion doesn’t want to stare at lusty, glossy and saucy pictures of wet n’ grainy, fiber-rich cereals all from the comfort of their own couch? I would think even skinny, ice shelved penguins on egg-watch too might get a little hot and bothered and see their feather temps rise under such extreme conditions.

Maybe I have misspelled it for I find no mention of a bland pablum diet and an e-fitness program that is web-based without the mess of real spiders and their unfortunate encounters with heavy free weights. Too bad since who knows If I had really shed a sled-full of my sugarloaf I might have been able to reach out and preach the benefits of ‘E-bowl-of’ to the world beyond my Lazy-Boy. Yep, If I were lucky, I might have even gone to the SOURCE where this trend all started – then as the official spokesperson, I could fly back home and REALLY spread the word in person to those TV news-pukes who always make me hungry!

Over-couture

I have to admit that I am not the snappiest turtle or dresser that you will ever meet. Of course I care about my appearance but the truth is I don’t really care if other primates don’t prove receptive to my presentation. I typically try to wear a light fleece jacket for most public hangings (of artwork) but when the lint builds up into a genuine fur coat or if my nose and toes turn bluer than normal from the cold it’s time for the OVERCOAT.

Though our rumpled exteriors are similar I do not own a traditional ‘oh so cool’ ‘Colombo-style’ khaki coat since I live more in a depression than in a trench. Anyway my wife already fears what I will do pants-less when bored in ordinary outerwear with free-flowing flaps, so she swaddles and keeps me occupied with pockets full of linty mints, stripped zippers and hidden snaps. Typically now when the weather turns foul like my breath, I’m routinely poured into and cinched up tight inside a bulky hooded ripstop cocoon to keep most of winter out and hopefully my cold shoulders or other pointy parts in.

Like that baseball crime-fighter Batman, I like to keep my gear handy and strapped to me at all times for emergencies. So these jumbo jackets come in handy for a fat-cat’s hat n’ glove storage and on occasion when my bicycle’s airbags fail. However those puffy parkas in concert with my hulking hide also make it nearly impossible to locate a set of keys, coins, or a ball point pen without a side-trip to the airport to be scanned by a metal detector.

Can’t anyone boast of a toasty overcoat that I can actually find things in that’s smaller than a bread-box, or at least is sewn with a transparent marsupial pouch to see the bun crumbs breed in my pocket bottoms? Finally modern couture that’s kind to my tiny insect mind – jackets that not only keep me and the thorax warm but also entertains too; with sea monkey stores on one side and an ant farm on the other. Anyway those salty shrimpy snackitizers will come in handy if ever forced to bivouac in a giant forest with my fellow formicidae, under the stars and a bounce-house sized winter, stuffed n’ tufted toga, to keep the Queen and me warm.