Today started off great, a perfectly normal and lovely morning. I got up early, showered and dressed, took my poor senior citizen car into the shop. I even walked home, stopping first to get a bagel and a lemonade (hadn't had breakfast yet) and had the forethought to stop along the way to pick up a sandwich for lunch since I'd be house-bound all day. After my care free walk through the glorious spring morning I was feeling efficient and hardworking so I put in a load of laundry, unloaded and loaded the dishwasher and finally nestled onto the couch with my laptop to get some work done.
And then I heard it. The buzzing. Very, very loud buzzing.
I stood up and looked around, terror filling my heart as adrenaline pumped through my veins. The buzzing was coming from inside the house. (You'd think a grown woman would have outgrown her terror of bees and wasps by now, but I haven't. When they show up I'm still very much a five year old girl, running, screaming and being reduced to tears). I pivoted slowly, attempting to locate the sound and find the intruder. He was trapped behind a picture I'd wedged into a window frame. Realizing I had precious little time before he figured out how to get out of there (basically, fly upwards), I grabbed my keys, phone and the dog and escaped my house. That's right. I ran away. Well, walked away, but it wasn't a proud moment. Not to mention it solved nothing. The bee would still be in my house, waiting for me (and my soul), when I returned.
I took the dog for a nice, long walk, attempting to formulate a plan (even going so far as to phone my sister and have her talk me down). When I finally returned, I hoped against hope it would be dead, but alas it was not. After ten minutes of circling around in my peaceful house, looking for it, I heard the buzzing again. He was still behind the picture.
I went outside, coming around so I could see the window from the outside and get a good look at what I was dealing with. The thing was gigantic. And furry. And gigantic. Shudders of disgust crept through me. He was still very much alive and I had no idea what to do. Until I saw the shovel.
What I liked about this particular shovel was its obscenely long handle. I could stand several feet away from the window and still use the shovel end to pry open the window. Fighting down waves of nauseous panic, I worked the shovel under the window and pushed up. Success! The bee flew out, I threw the shovel to the ground, the window slammed shut and I raced inside, slamming and locking the door behind me. (You know, just in case).
Who knew today I would prove myself a hero. I faced down the bee and survived.