Fresh Baked

Wednesday, June 30, 2004

None of your beeswax

Imagine it: You're on your way home from work (birds chirping), almost out of traffic (soft breeze), thinking about the burger you'll soon be enjoying (gentle harp plucking). Ah... Bliss! When, all of a sudden, you see a dark cloud up ahead! (thunk!) But... It's on the freeway with you! (crash!) And it's fast approaching your car! (Zip!) Hey, hang on now, that's no cloud-- that's, that's, that's... A SWARM OF BEES!!! (Boom, Clang, Pop, Bang!!) AAaaaahhhh!!

I drove through a swarm of bees. Thrice, actually, because I guess bees suck at navigation.

I'd like to think I'm with the majority of the population who have joined the 'I Don't Really Care for Bees' school of thought, but for me, Don't Really Care for should be replaced with Am Petrified of and May Wet Myself When Confronted By. So it's safe to say that I was less than thrilled for them to present themselves as a united front. Freaked out? Yeah, freaked out would about sum it up. And of course, I'm still driving at this point, with the sunroof and windows wide-ass open. I don't know how I didn't get into an accident. I don't know how I was able to close all the openings to my car so quickly. I do know that I got out my camera, because, Freeway? Traffic? Bees? Why, it's the perfect time and place for taking pictures!

Don't see them all clearly?



I've gone ahead and circled every single one of those buggers.



No bees were harmed in the taking of these pictures. Except Benny, there-- Benny met with a rather timely death, in my opinion.