We're getting bees. They come tomorrow. All 500 of them. I don't have enough place settings. But they're coming. Eleven is not psyched. He is afraid of bees. We've done all the "honey bees almost never sting, as long as you leave them alone, they'll leave you alone." Same thing we tell kids about bullies and bears. It'll be like immersion therapy. Applied without expertise, and living in his backyard.
Thirteen's eyes are already glowing the color of all the money we're going to make by selling all our honey. We told her it'd be a year until we see honey, and it won't be that much, and we don't want to sell it, but she's not listening. She's adding and multiplying. Thirteen is a very capitalist age. Late stage. She's gonna make money of off our hard work and investment. We might have to unionize. Thirteen is a very capitalist age.
I'm nervous, but also I wonder if I'll be able to make one of those bee beards on my face. Or maybe just a nice bee mustache. Or bee mutton chops. Or a little bee flavor saver right below my bottom lip.
They could all just fly off. It happens. I'd be ok with that. Bees gotta bee. I worry about mites, sickness, skunks, the dogs, the weather. I don't worry about the Murder Hornets so much because I saw a video where some Japanese honey bees take one apart, so I figure American honey bees will be more than up for the challenge. They probably carry little AR-15s.
The Bees come tomorrow. What a crazy thing.