I didn’t realise how casual our attitude had become towards bees until we had people round for a meal the other night.
Our dining room backs onto the garden. When I’ve finished bothering the bees I usually drop my suit by the back door meaning to put it away later after I’ve tripped over it a few times. I almost never remember to check it for bees before coming inside.
As result there’s always a few bees in the house, it doesn’t bother us unless the numbers get too large, in which case I get out the vacuum cleaner and return them dizzy, dusty but unharmed to the outside world.
It was late, we’d been drinking and any self respecting bee should have been fast asleep in the hive but we’d turned the lights on and started exchanging inappropriate stories a little too loudly so that the neighbours would have something fresh to gossip about in the morning.
Sue pointed out a bee crawling blearily across the table between the meal debris and wine glasses.
“Just the one?” I said, “there’s usually twenty or thirty around here somewhere. I’ll let her out in the morning”
“There’s another one!” Said Sue, the pitch of her voice slightly raised in something resembling alarm.
“No, that’s just a wasp! They come in after the bees” My wife cheerfully interjected as Sue drew her knees up almost crouching on the chair – which only served to bring her closer to the bees on the table that were now investigating the remnants of desert.
By this point another dozen bees had woken and gone back to their team effort of trying to figure out the window latch. A few decided flight was overrated, plopped to the floor and began exploring feet. Sue began to rock ever so slightly.
“Look at the time, we really must get going! Next time you really must come to us instead!”
I wonder if we’ll ever see them again.