Early Morning Frenebee

I woke to the sound of my annoyingly incessant alarm clock and eventually dragged myself out of my cozy bed. I stumbled my way to the bathroom to begin the process of getting ready for work.

I began to pick out clothes for the day when I noticed something out of the corner of my eye…a bee frenemy, or frenebee.

It must have gotten in through the open windows the day before and was now lethargic in its movement. Without panicking While panicking a great deal, I began to think through my options. I considered doing nothing; pretending that I didn’t see it. The problem with that course of action is that it was right by my closet. And I needed to get in my closet.

So, ok, I was going to have to deal with the vile thing. Fabulous. But how to I kill this thing that I am terrified of? The frenebee was lazily crawling on the carpet and I wanted a way to quickly kill it without having to get too close. I thought of the fly swatter, only that might not be sufficient to kill it on carpet.

I had it! My husband’s work boot! It was heavy enough and I wouldn’t have to be super close to the bee. It sounded like a great solution in my head. When I returned to the bedroom with the boot, the bee had moved to the closet door. Oh great, now what do I do? It would be too hard to kill the bee with the boot at the bottom of the door like that.

Back to the fly swatter idea.

I returned to the bedroom with my new implement of frenebee death to find the little sucker had moved back to the carpet. Seriously?! Ok, fine, it’s back to the boot.

I can do this. I can’t do this. Using the boot was still putting me too close to the frenebee for my liking. What’s a girly girl to do?! I thought and thought and came up with a new plan.

I held the fly swatter in my right hand and the boot in the left. Taking a deep breath and saying a quick prayer for supernatural bravery, I brought the fly swatter down on the frenebee, pinning him to the carpet. Then I smashed the boot down on top of the fly swatter on top of the frenebee.

I was much too scared to check to see if the frenebee was, in fact, dead. And even more terrified at the thought of picking it up to dispose of it! *shudder*

So I left it.

Yep. I left it there – under the fly swatter, under the boot – for my amazing husband to clean up. *sheepish grin*

I called the husbandry and told him that I had killed a bee…and how I had left it. I recall him laughing and shaking his head at his silly little wife. But that good and awesome man did not complain overly much about it. He simply cleaned it up when he got home and called to let me know that I was indeed a frenebee killer. And the carpet was not stained.

I may or may not be ridiculous. I’ll never say which one I believe to be true.

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Other Frenebee Posts:
Flying Frenebee
Neon Frenebee
Night Time Frenebee