Okay, so it’s been a while since I’ve posted about a) bees and b) the glaringly obvious fact that I have red hair. So, I figured, why not both?
This wasn’t just an arbitrary decision. It was spurred by a horrible reminder I had this weekend that I should never go outside.
So, last weekend was Memorial Day weekend–naturally, while everyone else was going to the lake and boating and swimming and basically livin’ it up, my family spent the weekend cleaning out the garage and doing yard work.
This involved me going outside, something I wish I could avoid altogether. However, a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do, so I did it. And then I remembered why I dislike being outside in the summer.
Or wasps, or bugs of any pollinating nature.
Would you like to know why?
THEY THINK MY HAIR IS A FLOWER.
More specifically, they think it’s pollen. Because it’s shiny and orange-y. (Dad thinks it’s also because it always smells like a newly grown summer field of wildflowers (my words, not his) but I think it’s more because of the color.)
And it is annoying and slighty terrifying, because there I am, minding my own business, when suddenly I’m DIVEBOMBED BY A BEE. Sometimes they get stuck in my hair, then I’m freaking out and it’s freaking out and everyone’s freaking out and there’s screaming and it’s not pretty.
It doesn’t matter where I am, either. Like, I can kind of understand it when I’m right by the hive, but when I’m at the farthest point from the hive in the yard? Isn’t that enough for you, honey bees?
Ugh. This is houses were invented.
For this specific reason, I’m sure.