Friday, April 1, 2016

These Aren't Bees But ...

ottg2a 

Hubby likes to make sure that he gets really natural foods.  We used to get our honey from the markets and a little stall complete with a woman wearing a bee costume, with black and yellow signage and a  declaration signed by some 1000 bees, authenticating that they have picked her picture out of a 12 face line-up as the woman who had indeed, stolen their honey.    She had bandages all over her body with penned wording and arrows stating "bee stings" and she had pollen on the end of her nose ... well we all hoped to God it was pollen, and we assumed, but no-one ever actually authenticated it.

She swore her honey was raw and natural.

I bought her Kool-Aid.   I totally was into it.  And I enjoyed her honey.


Then hubby saw a sign on a little fruit and veg mom and pop stand that said "100% natural honey."  He was drawn to it because it was open 6 days a week as opposed to the one day each weekend for a few hours,  when the markets were on.  Apparently it was a real inconvenience to have to go on a weekend, that one time a year when the 12 gallon drum of honey he bought there last year ran out.  He had to check it out.

He came home with new honey that he was very impressed with, despite the fact it came in a bucket identical to the one we had always bought, looked exactly the same, and the seal had not yet been broken so there was no way he could have tasted it to verify it was all he wanted.

It was.

All he wanted .... and more . . .

It had dead bees floating in.

He was thrilled.

Who knew.  Dead bees and other floaty debris is evidently rock solid proof that something is raw and natural.  No-one had even strained it.  This, of course, meant that it would be the best honey ever and whatever honey is supposed to do for you, was going to happen.  He was going to grow hair or maybe even learn how to read directions or levitate or something.

I am already perfect so it would be wasted on me.  I just like some on my toast now and then.  I don't think you are allowed to have your toast condiments that are sweet and sugary be the secret Himalayan health bonanzarama.  It has to contain some kind of Yak blood, tree bark, and bitter snot from freeze dried frogs that have been eaten and pooped out by some feral cat . . . to be REAL health food.

He wanted me to taste it. 

I made him pick out the bees on account of my not wanting to pick them out of my teeth later on, and I reluctantly touched my tongue to the spoon he offered me.  I don't do honey without toast soldiers.   It was the ultimate sacrifice on my part.

A few minutes later my ears, nose, throat and eyes were on fire and I was coughing.  My throat felt a little constricted and I was reminded that I am allergic to bees.  Even just errant bee arms floating in honey ... evidently.   And then I was reminded that I had let my Epi pen expire and I realized I needed to find the Benadryl bottle in the next 3.4 seconds or I might die.

You can swear a lot in 3.4 seconds.  And I would just like to point out that all those nights spent chugging beer at the old canal, did NOT go to waste.  THAT talent may have saved my life.  I chugged that Benadryl like a pro, despite the years.  Not a single skill had been lost.

I lived.

And now, I will watch my hubby eating his honey and bee limbs, from behind a safety barrier.  I will shop for myself.  I will avoid the natural, healthy section because I need to live.  I prefer lying naturalists with fake natural honey.   Besides, I liked that the other lady cared enough to dress up.   She may not be a real bee but she is as close as I can probably get to one.  It makes me feel normal.  Handicapped people like me live for those few tender moments when we can just be like everyone else.

I think it is rude that my husband kind of snorted his coffee and almost choked when I just typed that.
I told him to go eat his bees knees and leave me alone.  I almost died for crying out loud.


ottg3a

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