A Sugar Daddy and His Harem of Hotties

Posted by Sir Jeffers

My neighborhood received some unwanted buzz recently when a swarm of bees started getting busy in my yard. What was my first clue? Well, several hundred of these yellow-and-black winged warriors suddenly dive-bombed me. I’m perceptive like that.

As I beat a hasty retreat, this scary mass of angry women made themselves at home, swiftly coalescing into a squirming globe larger than a basketball as they clung to one another–and to my hedge of hot-pink oleanders. The chaotic swarm gradually transformed itself into an ominous-looking strawberry about two feet long and later into a giant pineapple shape. Wtf!

Beyond this weird-ass game of bee-fruit charades, I worried that these migrant workers might be Africanized killer bees thirsty for my humanized American blood. But since they’d holstered their stingers so far, I pegged them for domestic honeybees simply doing a little house hunting.

Although the girls seemed harmless enough, I put in a call to the ominous-sounding county agency known as Vector Control, the crew that handles outbreaks of rodents, mosquitoes, wasps and bees. My tax dollars were at work, but very slowly as it turned out. The Vector mob couldn’t come round to catch and relocate my colony for at least a week. In my experience with women, rarely do they remain mellow long. A week sounded like a new record, so I kept my distance.

But what brought them here? Had they, like so many people, been driven from their homes by summer wildfires? Or maybe these little honeys were duped by some sweet-talking real estate drone, who urged their queen bee to move to the picturesque new community development, Oleander Heights, only to discover that it was really nothing more than just a low limb on a parched hedge by a cracked sidewalk where a shabby-chic guy plays a lot of sensitive acoustic guitar. Sad.

Over time I almost got used to the swarm’s thrumming presence. Plus, tip-toeing past them helped tone up my calf muscles, which all the magazines tell me is a plus for modern metrosexual dudes. Having thousands of hungry female eyes on me prompted me to doll myself up a bit and get a picture taken with them. I selected a color palette of fancy thrift-store duds, which I felt would most flatter their busy-as-a-bee, Type A personalities. While not exactly huggable, the bee girls had become so relaxed around me that I began to believe we could coexist and perhaps even get to know one another on a deeper level.

But it was not to be. Later that day, they simply moved on without a peep. And not even a breakup text message!

[its nt u its ME, B]

The exodus happened so fast, in fact, that a few of the girls got left behind, returning to their lonely husk of a hive loaded with freshly gathered nectar and wondering where their sisters had gone. I missed them too, and was slightly jealous that another neighborhood now had all the buzz.

Was it something I said? Or perhaps that tie? Whatever the cause, in the end it seems that when it comes to bee real estate, there are three key attributes: relocation, relocation, relocation! Maybe I should have brought them flowers.

———————————
Hey hey -!!!Stay Up To Date!!! BOOKMARK: *–>The FULL Blog ARCHIVE <–*
———————————