Onely.Org

Bad Onely Activities: Bumblebee Removal April 20, 2009

As we’ve discussed in previous posts (such as this one), sometimes being Onely means having to resolve undesirable situations when there’s no one else around. We call these Bad Onely Activities.

Over the weekend, I came home late one night to find my dog, Kitty, paying an unusual amount of attention to the lamp that sits on my bedside table. Kitty (you can see her pic on the About Lisa and Christina tab) was so obsessed that she actually put her two front paws on top of the table to take a closer look at the lamp.

I looked at Kitty. I looked at the lamp. I did not see anything. I took Kitty outside to do her business and came back. She immediately positioned herself back in front of the lamp and stared up at it. I did the same.

As we stared, I started to feel guilty. I thought to myself, my poor puppy must be SO bored to be obsessing like this over nothing! I’m such a terrible owner!

But she wouldn’t stop staring at the lamp. And every time I looked away, she gave me a wide-eyed look as if to say, “Are you crazy? Can’t you see it?!”

So, just to humor her, I crouched down to look at the lamp from her perspective. And then, as I looked up inside the lampshade, I saw it: A giant bumblebee. I am not kidding about its gargantuan size (see photo below). I nearly died when I saw its thumb-shaped body, all yellow, black, and fuzzy, hiding in the lampshade.

Actual size!

One thing you need to know about me: I AM TERRIFIED OF BEES. Truly, truly terrified – of bees and every other insect to which god cruelly attached a stinger.

It was clear that I had inadvertently walked into a Bad Onely Activity: If I wanted to go to bed that night, I would have to get rid of the bee. So I drew up all my Onely strength and prepared myself. I covered every square inch of my body: In addition to the clothes I was already wearing, I pulled on socks, a long trenchcoat, as well as my winter hat and gloves. I grabbed a canvas tote bag, put Kitty safely into her crate, and opened the bedroom window as wide as it would go. Then, I turned the lamp off and unplugged it, careful not to jostle anything.

But the bumblebee woke up – I think the light had soothed it to sleep – and I stared in horror as the creature emerged out of its hovel, prancing around the top and the outside of the shade for several long minutes. Finally – to my great relief – the unwelcome intruder decided not to fly and went back down into the inside of the shade.

I moved quickly, placing the canvas bag on top of the shade (so it wouldn’t come back out) and clenching the lamp’s skinny base. I was careful to move gracefully, so as not to bring attention to the bare part of my wrist that became inadvertently exposed when I took the lamp off the table. In what seemed all-too-slow motion, I shoved the lamp, shade side first, out the open window and onto the fire escape balcony. I slammed the window closed and left the lamp outside in the rain all night.

When I woke up this morning, I brought the lamp – bumblebee free – inside to dry, and I am happy to report that the rain did not ruin it (magic!). It would have been worth the loss, though – I hate bees so.

I cannot express how grateful I am for my dog’s Lassie-like sensibilities – or else I would have slept all night with that bumblebee creeping up my nose, preparing to attack me in my slumber (Christina points out that, with a size like that, the thing would not have made it up my nose – but that’s obviously beside the point). And I’m proud that I had the Onely chutzpa not to act on my first impulse, which was to run into my living room, shut the bedroom door behind me, and sleep/live there until the thing finally died.

— L