It's A Bee Thing
Meet my parent.
My Father is the kind of guy who's always in a hurry. He's got people to meet, appointments to keep, and a pack of assistants to keep track of his schedule.
Due to all the hustle, he is also the kind of guy who gets into the weirdest scrapes. He has gotten locked out of our house more times than the rest of the family put together, has gone to work with his clothes inverted, and has left various items --- most memorable were the eyeglasses in the refrigerator --- in all kinds of places.
So it is practically no surprise how he got injured while playing golf this morning. I don't think his friends and business associates will ever forget it; one has even said he's never heard of such a freak accident before.
And it all began with a bee.
Everyone knows what a bee is; everyone also has a unique response when one is present. Some people I know run screaming from the little fellow (A bee! A bee! It'll sting me!). Personally, I don't react since I figure it'll go away by itself.
In my Father's case, the bee was buzzing too close to ignore. So he batted it manfully with his hand; the movement often scares the bee to find other territory. Except the bee must not have been normal since it settled between my Father's fingers instead.
My Father then waved his hand vigorously in a get-off-you-silly-creature gesture. And then he broke his finger.
In conclusion, my Father is now walking the streets of our fair city with an unsightly splint on his middle finger. If you happen to see him, you may be slightly offended by the rude gesture he seems to be making. But never fear, dear Reader; he means well.
Daisy on 3/05/2008 11:06:00 PM