The Affair of the Bees And Taking the Cure

The affair of the bees was... anticlimactic. I climbed up to the top step of my Three Step Stool, aimed my Black Flag Killer Can and fired. The wet spray soaked the hive in half-a-second and the bee/wasp/hornet bugs dropped like, well flies. Special K suggested, too late, that I smudge stick the little buzzers and ask them nicely to relocate. I don't know why I didn't think of that myself. The only real drama occurred shortly after I had knocked the hive down. It shredded into paper thin pieces and even though I swept up most of them, our dog Matti managed to grab a hunk to chew on. I got her to give it up quickly and it was not a particle that was spray soaked. I, nevertheless, kept an eye on her the rest of the day. She's fine.

Saturday, I awoke to, and here is a redundant theme, the feeling of being sick. Late in the afternoon while watching parts of college football games I didn't care about, I pondered this question: If you are feeling sick, is there some other way to feel? The answer I deduced is yes. Drunk. I grabbed a Heineken from the fridge and poured myself a couple of fingers of Jim Beam into a small glass. Jim Beam is the best selling bourbon in the world, which beats me, as I think it tastes like rot-gut. It was, however, the only whiskey we had in the house. After I had achieved the desired state of inebriation, I grabbed by iPod player and retired to the patio to enjoy some music and the feeling of drunk instead of sick. A good time was had by...me.

Sunday, of course, I got to feel another feeling that was not the feeling of sick but seriously akin to it, the hangover. The great thing about hangovers that isn't true of sick, is that you know for certain it will be gone on the morrow. All that needs to be done to enact the cure is to pass twenty-four hours with as little movement as possible. A sofa or recliner in front of all day Pro Football is a great aid in this regard.

It is now a diamond bright Monday morning and I am devoid of hangover and measurably less sick than I was on Saturday. I'm thinking of writing a treatise on how to feel not sick when you are...sick. The medical community is apparently not on to my method and there may be a Nobel in it for me once my cure gets around.

While I'm waiting, what with the sun out and all that, I think I'll mow the lawn. Or, I suppose, I could wave a smudge stick over it and ask it to relocate. If that works, there could be a second Nobel headed my way. I'll share that one with Special K.