I awoke this morning excited that the bees might have settled down enough that the baby and I could venture onto the porch. But, alas, within five minutes of making noise in the kitchen the bee was buzzing outside the window again. Un-be-lievable.
So I called to Jacob who came groggily out of the bedroom. I told him she was back, and I insisted that he kill her immediately.
"I think I'm going to kill her in just my boxers." He said. "For the thrill of it."
By the time he came over to the window, she was gone, and he asked if I was the only one who'd ever seen her... So I spent the rest of breakfast indignantly convincing him that she existed.
After Jake went down for a nap, we finished our tea on the porch waiting for the attack. The minutes ticked by and the little swarmer didn't show up. The time for Jacob to leave for work was fast approaching (Hollywood hours = 10am start time). He was making polite conversation and enjoying the fact that my eyes darted suspiciously toward anything that moved. I got plenty of lip ("That's a fly, Katie, and that's a bird...") But this bee hated me. And I knew she would come. And she did.
She flew straight at me.
Jacob was swatting at her with a dishtowel, and I was running in circles around him convinced she was trying to crawl into my ears. He grabbed my arm and smashed the dishtowel against my head. "I've got her."
Voila. The little dead diva.
You can even see her stinger coming out...the little *%#*
And did I get any sympathy from my loving husband despite having just been attacked? Zip. Zilch. Nada.
Instead he raised his eyebrows, glanced at my new uniform (matted ponytail and yesterday's almost-running attire) and said, "Well, they emit a sort of pheromone when they die which attracts other bees....So you might want to take a shower."
The best news of the event - which Jacob was sure to point out before leaving for work: the infamous AHB only attack in herds. Never alone.
So we've merely domesticated regular old European Honey Bees with personal vendettas.