The plagues of heaven have descended upon us. Not only is my city in flames, but I arrived home yesterday evening to find my apartment infested with bees. I’m talking hundreds of bees in both the bedrooms. I screamed, slammed the bedroom doors and called our maintenance man. Something must be done.
So I put on a pot of water to boil.
He arrived and said they’d have to smoke out the apartment. There was probably a hive in my attic and the hot day forced the bees out of my light fixtures and into our apartment. They’d probably been up there months waiting for the perfect moment for their hostile takeover of my home.
I whipped up a tasty bacon and sun dried tomato ceasar salad. The salad packs had been on sale 2 for $6 at my grocery store that day and I can never resit bacon in salad. Such decadence!
There was only so much my maintenance guy could do so he called in the official Pest control people. Ten minutes later the exterminator arrived carrying armloads of gear and a gas mask. The apartment management company called and told me to find a place to spend the night.
The water was finally boiling so I dumped in my three cheese tortellini and a sinful amount of salt.
Spike stuffed a change of clothes, toothbrush and wallet in a Hefty trash bag then got online to find a hotel. The exterminator began spreading plastic sheeting over the furniture. A peeved bee buzzed out the front door.
I peeked in the fridge for the tomato sauce. The tortellini should be done any minute now. Blazes! We were out of red sauce. I’d have to whip up a homemade cream sauce instead. I put a saucepan on the stove and began whisking the butter, milk and cheese.
“The smoke will take 5 hours to dissipate. You’ll need to wipe down all countertops and other surfaces that you eat off of afterwards. We’ll try and take out the entire hive tonight.”had found a hotel across town on Expedia that fit our $100 relocation budget. My newborn surveyed the chaos with wide, dark eyes.
The tortellini was a perfect al dente and my cream sauce smelled divine. As a final garnish, I diced a juicy tomato to sprinkle over the meal. “Dinner’s ready, sweetie!” I called and set two glasses with ice on the table.
The exterminator appeared from the bedroom, wearing full gear and staring at me through the foggy glass of his gas mask. “I’m ready to spray,” came his muffled voice.
“Would you like a drink?” I asked, holding out a chilled soda.
“Ma’am, you need to leave the apartment.”
“We’ll just be a second.” I replied, motioning to my scrumptious dinner on the table.
“You really need to get your baby out of here.” Cher cried weakly from the corner.
“But I’ve made dinner, it’s all ready…”
An hour later we pulled into the parking lot of Denny’s. I’d be eating a cheeseburger that evening. Apparently cooking as a coping mechanism doesn't work against bees. Pity.