So last week Molly and I took a leisurely stroll down to get the mail from the box at the end of the driveway. As soon as I opened the door of the box a small swarm of bees emerged and proceeded to sting the $#%*-- bad word intended, out of both of us. I took off running--Well I call it running, some call it a shuffle--- but Molly elected to do the stop drop and roll. Not a good a maneuver when the bees are still there and you’re showing them your pink tummy. But it was something she remembered from one of our late night fire prevention talks so she thought she would give it a shot. Finally she took off running too-- towards me-- bringing the bees along with her. Winded, I went to the safety of the garage and Molly diverted towards the lake.
My mailbox is one of those cute little covered bridge things with a steel mailbox inside of it. This leaves a gap between the steel box inside and the little wooden building outside and there in lays the problem and there in laid the bees with little room for you to get at them. There was only one answer. One of those cans of bee and wasp killer bombs. So off to town I go and I buy the most powerful one on the shelf. This one the label says will kill them if you just threaten them with it. But I got bee stings that are still burning in several places and Good Lord my poor dog, so I’m pi@#$% off-- another bad word but you had to be there. There will be no threats, just total annihilation.
It said on the can, wait until dark so now I’m up an hour after my bedtime and that’s not helping my attitude either but I snuck down there and emptied the whole nine yards in every crook and cranny I could find. Later I found the calamine lotion and swabbed down my bee stings and retired for the night. Did I mention a double hook of brandy to calm me down? I had to beg for Molly to come in the house because she hadn’t forgotten me shutting that garage door in her face. Needless to say we slept on opposite ends of the house and she’s still not talking to me.
The next morning when I went to get the paper and gloat over the bodies of all those dead bees, my mailbox was humming like a Crow Wing Power transformer It was still dripping with that so called deadly juice and those bees, we’ll they’re, there waiting for me. Perplexed I waited for the mailman to warm him but he proceeded to tell me he had already been stung yesterday and fix the problem-- or as the soup Nazi used to say on Seinfeld---“No mail for you.” So the box is looking old and maybe its time to get rid of it anyway. Only one problem. To unscrew it from the board you have to be right there. I gave it a try anyway and got stung. Twice more.
So off to the house I go for some newspaper, which I shoved in the box and one quick pass with the grill lighter. Vengeance is mine. Not sure what was in that juice but that box burned like a Roman candle. I know it’s a federal offense to destroy a mailbox but damn it this was my mailbox. 23.00 dollars later for a new box and I am back in business. Now when we go to get the mail, Molly stops half way there with one eye on the garage door and seems to be saying “I’ll wait right here big guy.”
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