Bumblebears and the Tender-Hearted Roomie

It's Spring. Yeah, I know, it's not official until this Saturday but I know it's spring because I can barely breathe, I use the wipers to remove an inch of pollen from my windshield every morning, and the bumblebears are out. There's also, you know, the blooming of the dogwoods, the flowering of the azaleas, and the general feeling of whimsy in the air.

So, I was clipping the blooming bushes and sharing the space with the bumblebears (that's what I call the kind of bees with the rotund, bear-shaped, fuzzy-looking bodies) when one bumped into me. No big deal, he wasn't being aggressive, just clumsy. And his clumsiness made him that much more endearing. Bumblebears are endearing even without human qualities and the magic of DreamWorks animation--they're just cool little fellas. I suppose you could say I'm mostly indifferent to the little guys. Until they come in the house.

Now the roomie on the other hand, has a tender heart towards anything small and furry and she has a vague recollection of hearing or reading or imagining that modern-day bees are dying out. When we eat honey, she goes into monologues about how amazing bees are, how they work together to create the hives and the honeycomb and how sad the world would be without them. She's loved them even more since she saw The Bee Movie.

So, when Mr. Bumblebear came in the house we saw him differently. To me, he was an inconvenience. To her, he was a friend to save--even though she wasn't excited about his stinger.

I was happy to oblige her wishes and cheered her on as she got the tupperware and the piece of paper. After approaching him tupperware first, with a backwards leap at every twitch or buzz, she sprang for him. When she opened her eyes and saw him bumping into the tupperware walls, she did a joyful little jig. Mr. Bumblebear, however, was not so joyful. As she slipped the paper "lid" on, she consoled him saying, "Don't be mad, little guy, I'm just trying to save your life." She began to relax a little, feeling good about facing her fears while looking out for the bee population of the world.

Just one step left.

I opened the door for her and she opened the tupperware, flicked the paper, and pulled the trap back inside. I slammed the door shut and she leaned against the door smiling, "He's out!"

Bzzzzzz.

"He's in!" He'd resisted her flick and stayed on the paper. And that's when she ran into her room and slammed the door--a bee with a human target isn't nearly as endearing as a rambling bumblebear.

Now it was just me and the angry bumblebear and the would-be bee saver whimpering behind the door. So, you know, I took care of it.

She hasn't come out of her room yet.