In case you can’t tell from the shockingly poor resolution of this picture, what you’re looking at is a bee. Sunning himself in the morning glow of our bay window. I got a jump start on my normal Wednesday cleaning routine and instead of heading back to bed after dropping Brent off at the train station, I got to work on some dusting and vacuuming. I was going over the baseboards (something I’ve never done before) w/ a Swiffer when I saw him. Just sitting in the middle of the window. I don’t know how he wasn’t spooked by my crazy overreaction to seeing him, but he just sat there while I tore across the room to the other side of the house and took this picture to send to Brent w/ a panicked what do I do?!?!?! bee emoji, scared face emoji, screaming emoji, crying emoji
It’s not like I’m some damsel in distress. I’ve killed plenty of bugs before, mostly when I lived w/ my sister in the cockroach hostel of 2010. But this thing? Was not to be trifled with. First of all, anything w/ wings is like ten times worse. What if you don’t kill them on your first try? Then they’re super pissed and just raring to go after you. Second of all, this wasn’t just some honeybee, who I could open the door and use a broom to shoe out, knowing he stumbled in by mistake and would much rather be outside w/ the flowers. No, this was definitely a wasp or a hornet or a yellowjacket (and why are there so many variations of these flying, stinging, swarming creatures) who was on a recon mission. Look at him, calmly sitting there while I’m freaking out on the other side of the room. I noticed he would turn in one direction, then the other, quite literally casing the joint and deciding the best place for the nest or hive, or whatever he was planning to build, to go.
I try to be a “live and let live” kind of gal; I’ve even turned a blind eye on the spider who set up shop in a corner of our basement, telling myself he’s there to kill the other bugs that get in. I named him Bugsy and greet him hello when I’m down there working out, since he’s in the corner near my mat and weights. But having him there is really just a reason to avoid that corner, which is why I haven’t been working out. Obviously, that’s the only reason.
I get it: when I’m outside, I’m on their turf and we have to coexist. But inside? My own home? I freak out. I scream for Brent. If Brent’s not there, I have to gather my courage for about five minutes before slowly…slowly……slowly creeping up on him w/ Brent’s shoe.
This morning I had a better idea and I went under the sink for the can of Raid. Then I resumed my slow creep, got about six inches away and sprayed the shit out of him before slamming down w/ Brent’s shoe. Not in my house, motherbugger. The lesson I think we can all learn from this is don’t ever dust your baseboards.
But I didn’t come here today to impress you all w/ my stealthy bug killing. My original post was totally sidetracked by this guy and I’ll be damned if I let him ruin any more of my day.
You know those kiosks that are all over big cities, hawking wares like t-shirts and keychains, mugs and magnets that are adorned w/ whichever city you’re in and aimed at the tourist looking for a quick souvenir? So they had those all over London w/ a t-shirt proclaiming “the bitch is back” and every time I saw it I wondered who the bitch was. Was this a song lyric I didn’t know or a well-loved slogan I’m not aware of? Whatever the case, the message was clear: I needed to get back on the blogger beat. This blogger is back.
Do you like how I casually slipped it in there that we were just in London? No biggie.
So, I’m back. Or at least I want to be and am going to make an actual effort to post w/ some regularity. Travel, fashion, DIY projects; just writing about what I know best. And obviously I don’t know anything about those topics, so if you’re in for blurry phone pictures (like the one starting this post) and road rage rants, stay tuned.