A Buzzworthy Story

I neglected to include this in yesterday’s recap of the New River Marathon.

This is a horror story.

Along the river in that land of North Carolina, there are wildflowers.  And amongst the North Carolina wildflowers are bumble bees.  And amidst my sweat and fatigue, the bumble bees decided I smelled sweeter than the flowers down low.

And so as I clomped along, the bees buzzed about me.

Bzzzzzz.

Bzzzzzz.

BZZZZZZZzzzzzzz.

I’d swat my hands, trying to send the bees a flyin’.

They’d only regroup, like biplanes swirling an oversized ape atop the Empire State Building.

Bees to the left of me.  Bees to the right.

Up and down.  All around.  Bees, bees, bees.

I’d wobble from the flowered edge to the center line of the narrow road… but those damn bees just kept a coming.

Bumble bees don’t often sting… but they unceasingly sing.  They sing a song of buzzy buzz buzzing that annoyed and taunted me.  A song in the key of B major… as in bee majorly buzzing.

And as they sung, those bumble bees sought to take five in my hair.  To these bees, my finger slicked hair was more 60s beehive than 2018 runner.

I’d shake my head, run my fingers through my follicles and the bees would take flight … only to alight once more amongst my greying and thinning pompadour.

Bzzzzzzzzz.

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

BZZZZZZZzzzzzzzZZZZZZZZZ.

Even at this moment, days removed from the wilds of Boone, NC, I feel them flitting about my head.

I hear them in my head.

The buzzing of their wings.  The bumbling of their bee-ing.

I admit the deed!  Tear out my hair!  It’s the beating of their hideous hides!

How I hate those bees.  How I wish those bees would cease to be.