Bugs ... BEEware!

I'm a laundry hanger. I LOVE to hang my clothes on the line. I find it relaxing, and peaceful. The birds are usually singing, the air is crisp, and it is a little bit of alone time where NO ONE will bother me (lest they be put to work!).

Last night I took a shower, and decided at the last minute that I would fold my laundry upstairs in my room before going to bed. I put the basked on the bed and begin folding. I am about half way through the load when I hear it:


Bzzzzzzzzzzzz! Bzzzzzzzzzzzz!

At first I think there is a fly behind me. I turn around, and there's nothing.
It doesn't take me long to realize where the sound is coming from. One of the two piles of laundry (Liam's pile, and Hannah's pile). Which is buzzing, I'm not sure.

I'm hoping its a fly but fearing that it isn't.

I grab my slipper and start whacking the clothes. Whatever is in there won't survive a wolloping from my size eight slipper, surely!

I smack.
I whack.
I alternate between piles.

The buzzing quiets, then gets louder.

So, I keep my slipper on the pile and start whacking the slipper with my book - my brand new book. I'm giving the pile of clothes the beating of its life before I realize that the buzzing is NOT stopping, and my book is getting ruined.

I lay the book down and sit on the pile of clothes (slipper and all). The buzzing stops. WHEW!

I breathe deeply and stand up.

The buzzing begins again.

By this point, I'm getting a little bit frantic. I'm remembering when someone (probably my mom!) told me that bees and hornets release a smell or a sound to let their hive know that they're in trouble. I'm remembering that someone (probably my mom, probably LYING!) telling me that the hive will swarm to protect their own. I remember someone (SOMEONE) saying, "If you need to kill it, kill it fast." A philosophy I've adopted as my own, terrified of being swarmed by stinging insects.

So yes, I'm panicking.

Not sure what to do next (the damn thing won't die, I'm going to get swarmed - in my room no less - by these stinging creatures hell bent on revenge), I grab a towel and swaddle the entire load of laundry. I wrap it as tightly and securely (yet gently too!) as I can, and tiptoe my way downstairs, terrified the thing will be further disturbed and find a way out (at which point it will not only sting me, but sound the alert).

I get outside and HEAVE the entire load out onto the grass. Remember, I don't know WHERE the bug is, only that it is in the laundry piles somewhere.

I delicately begin picking up articles of clothing. I give them a shake. When I hear no buzzing, I put it on the step.

Down to the last pair of shorts. Liam's yellow swim trunks. I give them a shake. I am greeted with a buzzing. I shake them again (shake and toss, really!) and when they land the buzzing takes on a furor that I'd not heard before. Of course, as the buzzing increases in intensity and rises in pitch I begin ducking for cover, SURE that by now the hive has heard his troubles and are about to swarm.

I give the shorts one last shake and I hear a piercing sound - like the sound of a needle piercing through fabric. It is a STINGING bug. It is stinging the shorts, angry beyond belief with whichever nut case (me) is so violently disturbing it.

Now, by this time I've managed to throw the shorts all around the front yard, at 9:45 pm, with soaking wet hair, pjs, and no bra. I'm sure people are watching me, so I'm trying to remain decent.

It dawns on me that all this shaking is pretty stupid. Do I really, at this point, when it is so angry, want the bee to get loose? PROBABLY NOT. I jump off the step, land on his shorts, and do a little jig - rapidly stomping every square inch of the shorts. It isn't until I feel the snap of the bug dying (at which point I screamed and jumped away), do I feel safe to stop.

I stop, look around, and breath deeply. "I am a strong, independent woman. I don't need a man, or help." (You just know the whole time I'm thinking about who I can call to come rescue me. Strong my ass!)

It takes me a good few minutes to get the courage to shake the shorts one last time. The bee (big bee!) falls out and lays lifeless on the walkway. I think to myself that I should remove it, you know, put it in the garbage or something, but I can't. I'm halfway convinced that it ISN'T dead, but is faking it, with its swarm at the ready, waiting to get me when I bend over.

I go back in the house, finish my laundry, stopping every few seconds SURE that I hear bees. I brush my teeth, again, hearing bees the whole time. Eventually, I get Liam and put him in bed with me - a good mother would have left him alone, after all, the bees could still get me!

I woke up this morning, and sure enough, the bee is still there. It must have been dead after all. but I am re-washing Liam's shorts. Not only do they have bee guts in them, but I'm worried that he'll be walking around with the scent of bee panic on him... wouldn't want them to swarm the wrong target!

I hate bees.