Lost in Suburbia: To bee or not to bee
By Tracy Beckerman
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This summer we have done battle with a multitude of moles, weathered the untimely demise of our washer and dryer, and had to treat our dog for chronic swimmer’s ear. Since bad things happen in threes, I thought I was in the clear until at least Halloween. But then I got some news that really stung.
“Did you know you have a giant bees nest in your garage?” my contractor asked me.
“Are you kidding me?” I responded. I’m usually the first person to notice these things so I can scream at the top of my lungs for my husband to get rid of them.
“Well, technically it’s not in your garage,” he clarified. “It’s right next to it.”
I was actually less concerned with his geographical competence and more fixated on the fact that there was a bevvy of bees within the general proximity of my back door.
“Show me,” I ordered.
He led me over to the far end of the house and pointed to an area where the siding met the garage. It wasn’t hard to miss the swarm of bees going in and out of a space between the siding. It was so obvious, in fact, that I was surprised none of us had been stung, or better yet, had the good sense to start a business cultivating honey.
Although I can appreciate the contributions they make to the planet, personally, I’m not a big fan of bees… honey, bumble, or otherwise. It might have something to do with the fact that I accidentally sat on a bees nest as a kid and the memory of having the kids in school call me “puffy-butt” for two weeks still haunts me to this day.
While I usually try not to disturb things in nature, I stared at the bees nest from a safe distance and I knew there was no way I could let it bee.
I picked up the phone and called our pest control company.
“Hi. This is Tracy Beckerman. We have a bees nest next to our garage,” I reported. “Can you send someone to remove it?”
“We don’t remove the nest,” they informed me. “We just come in at night and smoke the bees out.”
Suddenly I realized that this was probably where the CIA had gotten their lingo. This was where they came up with the phrase sting operation. And of course you would send a SWAT team to carry out a bee sting operation. I also realized that as Commander in Chief, it was up to me to give the executive order to carry out the attack. The decision weighed heavily on my mind. I didn’t want to seem heartless, but then again, I had the safety of my family to consider. And also, I didn’t want to run the risk of being called “puffy butt” again.
“So should we send someone over later?” they asked me.
I thought about it for a bit and then came to the conclusion that I simply couldn’t make the decision alone.
“I think I need my husband’s input,” I finally told them.
“Let me give him a buzz.”
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