I originally titled this post “Men Are From Mars, My Husband is from Uranus” but that would be kind of rude. So I gave it a less biased title and you can decided who is from Uranus.
We just had a swarm move into the tree in front of our house, something that we are both delighted about (said without a hint of irony). We love honeybees. The happy, non-stinging kind.
But if one of (insert anything here: hive of bees, vintage scooter, ten speed bike from the 80s, Air Supply album because I thought having one was kind of funny and ironic but having 20 is a bona-fide collection which is not funny, it’s creepy, automatic cherry pitter – why have just one -, you name it) is good, an infinite number of (same thing) is better.
This is what I deal with every day.
Loony: The people across the street had to move their beehive because the bees were aggressive and stinging people.
Me: Wow, that’s unfortunate. Where did they move them to?
Loony: Longmont. But after a few weeks we could probably move them to our backyard hive.
Me (incredulous): But didn’t you just say they are aggressive and sting?
Me: And we have client parking right next to the hive?
Me: And don’t you think it would be bad if they stung our guests? And us?
Loony: I thought you wanted more bees.
Me: Not aggressive ones that sting!
Loony: What’s your point?
Me: (About to blow up but I chose peace and walked out of the room)
I’m trying really hard to not be the human detonator all the time (even though that’s exactly what happened this morning) so I turned the other cheek.
If he brings of hive of angry bees to our house, I’m going to kill him.