Of Bees and Bones

Who knew that a person could dislocate their thumb by squishing a bumblebee? Not me, that's for sure! I mean, I don't make it a habit to squish bumblebees. Au contraire, I entice them to my garden, those wonderful and buzzy pollinators that nature made. I enjoy the delightful "bzzzzzz" drone as they merrily careen from flower to flower, sampling the nectar of each. However, when that sound is heard at the bottom of the basement stairs, accompanied by "Mom, there's a bumblebee in the house", all bets are off!

Yesterday, Corwin alerted me that such an event was occurring. How the stripey beast had come in was beyond me. It was buzzing around the ceiling light fixture at the bottom of the stairs, confused, but at least it was not inside the playroom. I called out to Clara, and told her to go into the basement bathroom and shut the door. I instructed Corwin to remain upstairs, and I slowly walked down and closed the French door into the playroom. Still issuing instructions, I informed Clara that she could come out of the bathroom, and asked Corwin to watch from the top of the stairs to see if the bee came up. Then I ran for supplies.

Supplies? What kind of supplies, you may be wondering. Well, in the case of flying insects that sting, hairspray is your best defense, preferably aerosol. I don't use a lot of hairspray. I still have the same, jumbo can that I had in undergrad - and I graduated in 1991. It's very close to empty, so I also grabbed this sparkle spray (don't ask!) that adheres a fine mist of glitter to your hair with hairspray-like adhesive. I also grabbed a big towel, and then I ran back downstairs.

Corwin informed me that the bee hadn't come up, and I could hear it still buzzing, in what seemed to be a rather perplexed fashion. After removing the cap and shaking the can, I took aim and . . . . . s-s-s-sprayed the bee. It lost altitude immediately, and I kept spraying until it hit the floor, and I threw a towel over it. Then the buzzing took on a decidedly more pissed-off tone. Great, just what I needed - an angry bee. I wanted to scoop it up in the towel and get it up the stairs and outside, but it kept crawling out from under the towel, and I kept covering it. The last thing I needed was a pissed-off bee getting loose as I tried to rescue it, and attempting to exact its revenge. Particularly as our very spoiled dalmatian is allergic to bee and wasp and hornet stings, and I wasn't sure we had any Benadryl in the house.

Suddenly the bee got out from the towel and became airborne again. And the hairspray I was holding died. I was out of ammunition!! Thinking quickly, I grabbed the other can - the sparkle spray. With a mental prayer that this would work, not just get the bee gussied up for a night on the town, I sprayed. It took quite a bit more spray, but I finally wrestled it to the ground with glitter swirling around us. (fyi - the stuff smells nasty when you use that much of it!) I threw the towel over and yelled for Corwin to bring me a really big book. Which he did, kind of. Not the really nice, heavy books that the kids have but one of my gardening books. The coffee table variety, complete with book jacket (fyi - book jackets are slippery and highly impractical in the squishing of bees). I tried valiantly to smush it with the book. It wouldn't die. Damn, bumblebees have nine lives, too! Finally, after the book slipped yet again, I resorted to holding it along the side and trying to squish it with the spine. And that's when the book jacket slipped again, and I felt a funny "pop" in my right thumb. Adrenalin kept me going until the task was complete. I felt guilty as I flushed the little corpse, yet I also had the urge to giggle, as the song "Bringin' Home My Baby Bumblebee" kept going through my head ("Ooh, Eee, he STUNG me!")

All day yesterday, the slightest movement of my thumb cause me excruciating pain. Wow, opposable thumbs really are highly useful - I even had to start the car by putting my index and middle finger knuckles around the key to turn it! I managed to pop it back in the evening, so although it is tender and swollen, I can move it without feeling faint or nauseous. Again, thank God for Advil!

Oh. . . on the grocery list? Benadryl. And hairspray!